Emergency Handshake
by LLLady Southwark
Summary: Harry, Lucas, and Adam find themselves in the 18th century at the behest of Lieutenant Bligh. Can Harry navigate their way back home (and avoid a very angry Tavington)?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone! First of all, I would like to thank everyone who took the time to write me a message or leave me a review in the two years (!) since I last updated "A More Perfect Union." Suffice it to say my life has undergone some fairly substantial changes in that period, but I couldn't abide the idea of never finishing Kat's story, and every time I got a new review, it reminded me that other people also wanted the story finished. Plus I had already written a bunch of the tale you're about to read, so I decided it was a good way to get reacquainted with everyone (and some new characters, too) before properly taking the plunge back into "A More Perfect Union." (I also thought it would be a good, and novel, exercise to post something complete for once and not force anyone to wait for an update, given my slowness!)**

**I am not entirely sure where this story belongs. I suppose it's a crossover of sorts, except it's not, **_**really**_**: I am borrowing several characters from **_**Spooks**_**, one from **_**The Patriot**_** (obviously), and one from the **_**Outlander**_** series, plus a variety of historical figures; but more than anything it's a (non-essential) outtake from the time between "The Colonel's Lady" and "A More Perfect Union." Consequently, it won't make any sense at all if you haven't read at least the first of those stories, and it will only make marginally more if you've seen/read everything from which I'm borrowing characters**_**.**_** In any case, I own very little of this, and I am quite grateful to those parties who do for tacitly allowing me to borrow it (or, in the case of actual historical figures, interpolate leniently—in terms of both character and timeline, since all of these people were in London **_**near**_** the appropriate time but not simultaneously). **

**Please note the instructions at the bottom of each chapter; don't try to read it beginning to end, as any plotline there may be will be ruined if you do.**

**Thank you for your attention, good luck navigating, and let the adventure begin! **

**- LLLady Southwark**

**PS. Merry Christmas (and happy **_**very **_**belated birthday), TTT!**

* * *

Harry Pearce let the phone fall back into its cradle with a loud click. "Bloody hell." He spoke quietly, but the syllables seemed to hang in the silent air of his office. Dropping his head into his hands, he allowed himself a moment of unguarded _tiredness_. He really couldn't recall the last time a week had felt this long, which was saying something. And now, just when he thought he'd earned some peace and quiet, there _would_ have to be a call from the Home Secretary…

He paused, considering. It was 8 o'clock now; he could easily work another few hours, making calls, putting out the fires before things with that wretched MP Sims really came to a head. Or (and this was infinitely more tempting) he could call his driver and be home with a nice glass of Glenfiddich within the hour.

Sighing, he lifted his head and gazed at the phone. Sometimes he wondered just where one drew the line between devoting one's life to service of one's country and having no life at all; he had a nagging suspicion that, if such a distinction existed, he was well past it. And this Friday night was just another example: he could, of course, have shed his mantle of responsibility and "gone out" (as his team had been cajoling him to do)—but in the end, responsibility won out, and here he was on the Grid, his officers long gone to do whatever it was that one "went out."

But no more wallowing: there was work to be done. All trace of exhaustion gone, Harry reached for the phone once more—but before he could reach it, it began to ring. Frowning, he picked it up. "Adam?"

"Harry." Even in the space of two syllables, Harry could decipher a note of concern in Adam's voice. "I really think you should come out."

"Adam, we've discussed this. I do not require your interference in my personal life." Harry was somewhat shocked at the gall of the younger man; he had always thought they understood each other on some level. In any case, however much he wanted to be at home now, the thought of sitting in a loud, smoky pub with several of his officers was far less appealing even than staying on the Grid to diffuse this ridiculous situation.

"No, Harry, I'm not trying to—look, I just think you'd better come here. Outside the Savoy in fifteen minutes?" Adam sounded on the verge of panic, and Harry wondered for a moment whether his demons weren't getting the better of him once more. But no, he owed it to Adam to go—and besides, if he admitted it to himself, the idea of leaving the office did sound rather appealing just now.

"All right," Harry said gruffly, putting the phone down. Decision made, he stood up, pulled on his jacket, and was out of his office before he could reconsider.

* * *

A quarter hour later, Harry was stood outside the Savoy, wondering where the devil Adam was and why he'd allowed himself to be led into this madness. It _was_ nice to be outside, he supposed, particularly on a June evening that was positively balmy by London standards; but on the other hand, seeing all this—trees and a sunset and happy people sauntering by—merely served to remind him of what he was missing on a day-to-day basis.

The frown was firmly entrenched on his face by the time Adam appeared several minutes later. He was trailed by Lucas, which Harry found vaguely surprising: the two were hardly fast friends. But he had little time to ponder this development further, as he was too busy considering their companion, a tall and lanky man with a three-day beard and a bum bag.

"Harry Pearce?" said the stranger. Harry looked at his officers, hardly pleased that they had apparently told this man who he was.

"_Sir_ Harry Pearce," he said grumpily. "What the devil is going on here?"

Lucas looked to Adam, and the latter opened his mouth to speak, but the man preempted him. "Bligh," he said. "You'll have to come with me. I can't explain yet, but we're needed elsewhere."

Harry looked at Adam, eyebrows raised, then back to the stranger. "I'm afraid that's not a good enough justification for me."

"We don't have time for this, eh!" Bligh was clearly agitated. Lucas stepped toward him, throwing a glance back at his boss. Harry knew that all he had to do was nod, and Bligh would no longer be an issue—but he had to admit to a certain curiosity.

_**If Harry decides to humor Bligh and follow him, go to Chapter 2**_

_**If Harry decides to sic Lucas on Bligh, go to Chapter 4**_


	2. Chapter 2

"All right." Harry was shocked to hear himself saying the words; perhaps the stress of recent weeks had made him long, on some deep unconscious level, for an adventure. Lucas looked slightly disappointed, but stepped back from Bligh.

Bligh nodded, clearly relieved. "Fleet Street. Follow me." He led the trio out to the Strand and turned right, walking quickly (Harry, annoyed, found himself nearly jogging to keep up with the three younger men).

"Adam, what the devil is going on here?" Harry hissed as they dashed across a street against the light.

Adam looked uncomfortable. "Well, we were just having a pint, you know, and this fellow approached us—knew our names, and everything—and said he needed to speak with you. In person."

"Well, he doesn't appear to be doing much speaking." Harry nodded toward Bligh, who loped along silently ahead of them. "Why did you call me? You know better than to be fooled by any smooth-talking fellow who knows your name."

"He said he was acting under orders from the Home Secretary," Adam said, stealing a sideways glance at his boss.

"That's not possible," Harry snapped, "as I was speaking with the Home Secretary two minutes before you called. I rather think he would have said something about this business, don't you?"

"But he seemed—so—well, so in earnest!" Adam looked somewhat offended at Harry's questioning of his judgment. "Look, Harry, just—trust me. There's something about this guy."

Harry sighed heavily—or would have done, were he not already panting slightly from the exertion of keeping up with his companions, who were now passing a Pizza Express. He realized, with some regret, that he had not had any dinner; but it was no use thinking about it now, as this Bligh character clearly had no idea of stopping until they reached their destination, whatever that was.

The quartet had just passed Somerset House when Bligh stopped dead in his tracks, throwing out an arm to indicate that the rest of the group should pause. Harry skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with Lucas, but barely had any time to catch his breath before Bligh had dashed out into traffic toward the distinctive silhouette of St Mary-le-Strand church opposite them.

Once safely on the opposing sidewalk, he motioned to the hitherto obedient spooks. Lucas didn't hesitate, hardly seeming to glance right before following Bligh. Adam cast a quick glance at Harry before stepping into the street, leaving his boss with little choice but to go along with them. Cursing the idiocy that had lead him to think he wanted the absurd sort of adventure this was turning out to be, Harry crossed the street with rather more caution than the others, still barely avoiding a 172 bus that seemed intent upon colliding with him.

"What the _hell_ is this about?" Harry demanded when he had once again drawn level with Bligh. He stepped close to the taller man in what he knew from years of experience to be a threatening manner.

But Bligh did not seem particularly threatened; rather, he still seemed to be in an inexplicable hurry. "Classified," he said brusquely, turning away from Harry.

"There is no such thing as classified where I am concerned!" roared Harry, who had abruptly slid from annoyed into angry. "You _will_ tell me what this is about, or neither I nor my officers will proceed further!"

Harry noted with some pleasure that this threat appeared to have made Bligh somewhat anxious. "Please, Sir Harry, we haven't got time for explanations now. Once we're there, it will all be clear."

Somewhat mollified by the use of his title (much good though it did him), Harry glanced at his officers. Lucas looked impassive, as always, but his eyes belied a lust for battle; and Adam, easier for Harry to read, looked at his boss. "Come on, Harry," he said quietly. "I think he's telling the truth."

"About what?" grumbled Harry, but he knew it was no good—he couldn't say no now. He looked back at Bligh, whose eyes seemed almost to be pleading with him. "All right," he said grudgingly. "Where are we going?"

"This way," said Bligh, leading them back the way they'd come toward the gate that lead into the churchyard. Harry stifled the skepticism on his tongue and followed obediently. When they reached the gate, Bligh paused with his hand on the latch.

"This might sound a bit strange, eh," he said, rubbing a large hand across his stubbled chin.

"You don't say," muttered Harry.

Bligh looked distinctly uncomfortable as he uttered his next sentence. "You'll have to—er—hold onto me," he mumbled, looking determinedly at the now sunset-pink sky.

Harry thought of exploding once more, but one look at Adam and Lucas silenced him: for whatever reason, both of his officers had bought into Bligh's tale, and though he didn't like to admit it, he trusted their judgment. At least generally.

"Fine!" he barked, glaring at Lucas, who was closer.

Lucas nodded and stretched out a hand to grasp Bligh's shoulder. Adam followed suit, leaving Harry with no logical handhold. Feeling absurd and more than slightly displeased, he grasped Bligh's bum bag.

"Right," said Bligh, who still seemed on edge, despite the inherent absurdity of the situation. "Ready?" When no one responded, he nodded and looked furtively left and right. "Hold tight," he said, and stepped through the gate, Harry, Adam and Lucas clinging to him.

_**Continue to Chapter 3.**_


	3. Chapter 3

"_Harry_." The insistent voice pressing on the edge of Harry's consciousness had finally become too much to ignore, and with reluctance, he forced himself to wake up properly.

As soon as Harry opened his eyes and sat up, he wished he hadn't: head throbbing, mouth dry, stomach protesting nothing in particular. With some interest, he noted that his symptoms matched up precisely with those of the over-imbibing in which he had indulged in his younger days. But that was not important at the moment. He shook off the persistent grogginess and focused on the concerned faces of his officers (whom, truth be told, he wasn't convinced he was pleased to see).

"How—how are you feeling, Harry?" There was a tentative note in Adam's voice.

"Much as I felt the morning after I engaged in an absinthe-drinking contest with a senior KGB agent in Paris back in the good old days," grumbled Harry. Adam looked suitably unsettled; Harry ignored this and looked past him at the sky behind the church. Oddly, the sky seemed lighter than he had recalled—then again, it was summer, and the evenings were surprisingly long. "I must have hit my head. How long was I unconscious for?"

Lucas and Adam exchanged a nervous look. "Well—" began Adam, but Lucas interrupted.

"I think there's something you should see," he said brusquely, extending a hand to help Harry up.

Frowning, Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, swaying slightly once there. He set about brushing his suit off before he looked back at Lucas. "Well, what is it?"

Lucas nodded at a point past his boss's shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes and turned around—and nearly fell down again.

Aldwych and the Strand, that solid, never-changing bit of London, had changed completely. Gone was the Pizza Express they had rushed past—Somerset House now stood alone on that side of the street, its splendor more obvious than ever next to the humble brick townhouses that flanked it. There was not a bus or taxi in sight: instead, the cobblestoned street was filled with pedestrians, horses, and carriages (not to mention a distinct smell of manure).

Completely bemused, Harry shut his eyes tightly and shook his head. However, when he opened them once more, the horrible vision persisted. After a moment, Adam appeared in his line of vision. "Harry," he began, "I know this is unusual, but—"

"Bligh's after something," interrupted Lucas. "He wouldn't tell us what, but there might be an opportunity for us to expedite the process."

Only then did Harry realize that Bligh was nowhere in sight. "You allowed him to escape?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Adam and Lucas exchanged a helpless look. "He was gone before we came to," Adam replied. "We must have spent the night on the ground, it's morning now—"

"My powers of observation are not yet so poor that I need you to tell me it's morning!" snapped Harry. As if to punctuate his statement, a series of bells began to peal merrily, signifying that it was 9 o'clock. Harry sighed heavily and turned back to Adam and Lucas. "I cannot believe I am asking this question, but—have we traveled back in time?"

"Yes," said Lucas simply.

"We don't know how," Adam continued. "Bligh wasn't exactly forthcoming, but—"

"You _knew_ about this?" yelped Harry.

"Yes," said Lucas again, exponentially increasing Harry's desire to throttle him.

"How the _hell_—," began Harry, but Adam interrupted.

"Bligh told us last night. He didn't tell us why, but he said we needed to get you to come along, and he said you wouldn't come if we told you."

"Bloody right, I wouldn't," muttered Harry. He leaned back against the iron fence at the edge of the churchyard, staring up at the surprisingly blue sky, and took several deep breaths. "So—when are we?" he asked, looking steadfastly skyward.

"Late eighteenth century." Lucas's response was alarmingly quick; how much of this had they known beforehand, and why had they dragged him along on this misadventure?

Harry took another deep breath. There would be a way out of this absurdity, he was sure of it: he'd just have to wait for a solution to present itself. In the meantime… "We need clothing," he said abruptly. "I doubt we'll pass unnoticed, even in London." He surveyed his officers bleakly: Lucas's unobtrusive black trousers and shirt might be all right, but Adam's customary jeans and white button-down would most assuredly draw attention. Even Harry's own three-piece suit wasn't exactly appropriate for the time.

Adam looked pained. "You're right, Harry, but perhaps we should get some food first?"

Harry considered this. "I suppose Twinings is just down the street, even now…didn't they used to have a café attached?"

Adam nodded eagerly. "And I'm sure there'll be a clothing shop somewhere nearby."

"I think we should get the clothes first," said Lucas. "We don't want to draw unnecessary attention."

Harry paused, considering: Lucas certainly had a point, but on the other hand, it might be too much for him to go shopping with his officers without some tea beforehand.

_**If Harry decides that the need for tea is more pressing, go to Chapter 6**_

_**If Harry decides to purchase clothing and forego nourishment for the present, go to Chapter 7**_


	4. Chapter 4

"No," said Harry, his firm tone belying none of the indecision he had felt.

"But—" Bligh began, starting toward him, but Harry gave a nearly imperceptible nod, and Lucas was between them.

"Back off, mate," he said lightly, his hands rising in a gesture that clearly indicated that he was prepared to enforce his command by whatever means necessary.

Bligh stepped back. "You've got to listen," he said urgently, looking at Adam. "You've got no idea what's at stake!"

"I'm afraid we don't," said Harry coolly. "Nor do I have the time to continue this conversation." He turned on his heel and made to march back out toward the street, but Bligh moved instantly to block him.

"Sir Harry—please—you don't know—" Before Bligh could finish his sentence, Lucas leapt toward him, rugby tackling him into submission on the pavement. Fortunate there were no bystanders, thought Harry, as this would no doubt have gotten called into emergency services; the last thing he needed this evening was a run-in with the Metropolitan Police.

"Come _on_, Harry!" Adam tugged at his arm. "We've got to go—Lucas has him under control."

Harry looked down at the two men writhing on the ground. Lucas did seem to have the upper hand, it was true—and Harry knew him well enough to know that Lucas was not one to relinquish control once he'd gained it. He nodded and stalked back toward the Strand, Adam at his heels.

Once back on the street, Harry turned right. He walked quickly, and in silence: he was in no mood to converse with his companion. Tourists leapt out of the way, intimidated by the ineffable aura of authority he wore, and Adam had to quicken his stride to keep up.

They were just past St Mary-le-Strand church by the time Adam broke the silence. "Harry," he said, loudly enough that he could not be ignored. Despite the palpable chill emanating from Harry—a chill that Adam should by all rights have recognized as the immediate precursor to an outburst that would have everyone in hearing distance wishing they could sprint for cover—the younger man continued unabashed. "You've got to understand, we wouldn't have dragged you out for nothing. That man—Bligh—he had _information_, Harry, things he shouldn't have known—couldn't have known if he wasn't who he says he is!"

"Adam." Harry's voice was sharp, yet so quiet Adam had to draw even with him to hear. "Did it not occur to you that his information, however privileged, might have been obtained from an illicit channel? I have made allowances for you in the past, but if your judgment has become that clouded—"

But Adam never heard the end of what was sure to be a threat of unemployment: several screams came from behind them, and both spooks whirled around instinctively to greet this new threat.

Bligh was coming at them straight on, Lucas on his heels at a dead sprint. "Go, Harry!" he bellowed, and Harry did, not even pausing to think how odd this must appear to passersby.

Harry stopped when he reached the end of the block, halting just next to the long-defunct Strand station entrance. He leaned into the building as though that would prevent him from being seen; he regretted this almost immediately, as it merely resulted in Adam, then Bligh, then Lucas hurtling into him in quick succession. The force of their combined impact was enough that Harry toppled back through the station door—which should, a practical voice in the back of his head told him, by all rights have been locked—followed by his three pursuers; there was an almighty crash, and everything went dark.

_**Continue to Chapter 5**_


	5. Chapter 5

"_Damn_," said a voice, quiet but distinct in the darkness. It was enough to push Harry into consciousness, and he stirred groggily, not yet quite sure where he was or why that voice should sound so damnably familiar.

As soon as Harry opened his eyes and sat up, he wished he hadn't; his head was pounding, his ribs felt bruised, and his back ached from the hard floor. He looked around at his companions and saw both Lucas and Adam blinking dazedly against the bright sunshine that the still-open door was emitting into their otherwise-dark resting place.

This, more than anything, caught Harry's attention. Sunshine? It was nearly dark when the quartet had crashed through the barrier… "We can't have all been unconscious for an entire evening!" he said, more to himself than to anyone, but the voice that had spoken earlier answered him.

"Worse," said a lanky figure, rising from the ground and brushing itself off. The figure stepped into the light, and in a flood, memories from the events that had lead him to this unpleasantness returned to Harry.

"_Worse_?" Harry said threateningly, scrambling to his feet with rather more difficulty than Bligh had seemed to do. "Explain yourself. _Immediately_."

Bligh seemed distinctly uncomfortable at the shorter but imposing figure of Harry moving toward him threateningly; he took a half-step backward before responding, which, perversely, mollified Harry slightly. "It went wrong, eh. That's what I was trying to tell you last night. I've no idea when we are."

"What do you mean, _when_?" Harry said, moving again toward Bligh. To their credit, Adam and Lucas were now both on their feet, looking much the worse for wear but ready to discharge whatever duty their boss required of them.

"We were meant to get to 1783, but through a different portal. They're all different, obviously, and there's no telling when we are. Particularly given that we weren't even sure about whether this one would work at all. We could be anytime between 1770 and 1800." Bligh spoke rapidly; or perhaps it was simply that Harry's addled brain refused to process the absurdities he was uttering.

"You are treading on very thin ground," Harry began, not about to admit that Bligh had him at a serious disadvantage.

"Harry—Sir Harry—listen," Bligh said urgently. "There's no time for this. I've got to get going—we might already be too late. And if you don't believe me about the time travel bit, see for yourself." He nodded toward the door, which he was already more or less out of.

"Wait," said Harry, more threateningly than ever, but Bligh shook his head, already out in the street.

"Can't, sorry, mate—see you at the rendez-vous, hopefully." And with that, he disappeared.

Harry, seething (among other things, at being called "mate" by a man barely half his age), whirled around to face his useless officers. "Well? Go!" He nodded at the door.

Lucas and Adam exchanged a glance that was more than slightly guilty. "Harry," began Adam in his most placating tone, but Harry held up a silencing hand and moved to peer out the open door.

It was exactly as Bligh had said, though on some level Harry refused to believe it: they had traveled back in time. The Strand was cobbled, not paved; it was populated by a melee of pedestrians, carts, horses and carriages, not bicycles and buses and taxis; and though St Mary-le-Strand still stood across the street, the distinctive curve of Aldwych and the towering BBC headquarters were gone. Harry closed his eyes and turned back to face his officers, both of whom were staring at him with something like fear.

"You _knew_ about this nonsense." It was a statement, and both men directed their gazes determinedly toward the ground, which was as much of an admission as they were likely to give.

"How are we going to get home?" Harry felt ridiculous even asking the question.

"I don't think we can, not without Bligh," said Lucas.

"_Then why the hell did you let him leave?_" bellowed Harry, not caring that the pedestrians wandering past the door might well stop to investigate.

"He's not going to leave until he finishes his business, whatever it is," Lucas replied, staring steadfastly back at his irate boss.

"And _why_ did we need to come along, if we're not even going to be involved in this 'business'?" But neither man had an answer for Harry, and after a moment he sighed heavily. If they were going to survive long enough to get back—which Harry fully intended—then they would need a plan.

"I know it's early, but I could use a pint," said Adam heavily. "And we could all do with some food, I think." He looked hopefully at Harry.

"I think we should go to Middle Temple," said Lucas unexpectedly. His companions stared at him, baffled. "I just have a feeling," he said, but then shrugged. "Of course, it's up to Harry."

Harry paused, considering. Whisky did sound inexplicably appealing, and there was no reason he could think of to go to Middle Temple—but then again, Lucas's "feelings" did sometimes yield unexpectedly fruitful results.

_**If Harry decides that everyone could do with some alcohol, go to Chapter 8**_

_**If Harry decides to indulge Lucas's "feeling," go to Chapter 9**_


	6. Chapter 6

"Tea," said Harry decisively, and again, more forcibly, "_Tea_," as Lucas began to object. Harry could see the merits of the other man's argument, but he didn't feel capable of tackling anything without some caffeine first, and a solidly English cup of tea would do everyone good.

Adam, who had glanced happily at Harry when he had made the decision in favor of tea, abruptly composed his expression into one more suitably remorseful once he caught his boss's eye. He fell into step behind Harry as they marched across the street and turned toward Twinings. Lucas trailed behind, his gaze moving unceasingly to ensure that they weren't being followed. Although avoiding a follower was not precisely the highest item on Harry's present list of priorities, he had to admit that there was something comforting in knowing that his officers were not completely complacent in their new surroundings.

But Harry's attention was soon more immediately occupied: surviving a simple stroll down the street was seemingly a task that required the complete focus of the walker's mind—or perhaps he simply didn't understand the rules of traffic. The street had abruptly become a sort of moving maze. A crowd of rather questionable-looking women were leering at Harry and his companions, presumably because of their odd dress; Harry pointedly ignored them and was forced to step into the street to circumvent their skirts, which put him directly in the path of a very solid plow horse. Cursing under his breath, he leapt back out of the lane, nearly tripping over a pair of dirty children toting a basket full of vegetables.

This would not do. He took a deep and steadying breath, ensured that Adam and Lucas were still behind him by way of a cursory glare over his shoulder, and marched down the street, shoulders thrown back and head held high, wishing he had a walking stick to make himself more imposing. In future, he would have one of his officers lead the way; their height was positively imposing in this age when Harry himself was tall. Still, this new posture seemed to work better: perhaps the key to making one's way down a crowded street was simply to assume that all impediments would remove themselves.

Four extraordinarily lengthy minutes later, they were stood in front of the familiar Twinings awning, the building looking rather grander than Harry remembered it. An exquisitely-suited and expressionless man moved to open the door and bow them into the shop, a tinkling bell announcing their entrance, and the smoky scent of tea overwhelmed Harry's senses. He felt abruptly that Empire had been a glorious thing, if only for the tea.

"This way, please, gentlemen," said a voice at his elbow, and Harry turned to see a short but well-attired man with remarkable mutton chops smiling pleasantly at him. He spent a moment wondering whether he shouldn't grow out his facial hair before he realized the man was staring at him expectantly. "Thank you," said Harry, and followed the man to the back of the shop, past shelves of tea leaves and a counter with large silver scales, into a cozy room with armchairs arrayed around several small tables.

The tables were empty, which Harry thought odd: surely the English constitution couldn't have changed so much in two and a half centuries that it would be uncouth to have tea in the morning as well as at teatime? But the ceremony with which the man bowed them into their seats, and the impassivity with which he accepted Harry's order for a pot of tea and muffins indicated that something was amiss, though Harry supposed it could just be their clothing.

As soon as the little man had departed into the back of the shop, Lucas leaned in to ensure that he wouldn't be overheard. "How are we going to pay for this, Harry?"

"Um," said Harry, who in his present addled state had not considered this. But Adam was, oddly, smiling.

"Don't worry," he said, "I've got an idea."

Harry was not comforted. "And what precisely is that?"

Adam shook his head. "We'll just—" He stopped speaking as the man reappeared with a pot of tea and a plate piled high with buttery muffins, and for some minutes, all was silence but the sounds of chewing and sipping as they set into their breakfast.

As Harry polished off the last muffin, he sighed contentedly to himself. He still hadn't the foggiest idea how they would get back, but somehow everything seemed brighter on the opposite end of a pot of tea. Just as he was considering how he might ask their mutton-chopped friend where they could obtain clothing, Adam stood.

"What are you doing?" demanded Harry, keeping his voice low.

But Adam simply shook his head. "Leave it to me, Harry," he said, and strode back into the shop. Harry glanced over at Lucas, who looked nearly as tense as Harry felt. He wondered briefly whether they shouldn't simply dash out now before the man reappeared, avoiding the matter entirely—but their clothing made them too conspicuous in the street, and Harry had no intention of getting them all locked up in the Tower. Harry inched his chair back surreptitiously so that he had a view through the doorway out into the shop.

Adam was standing in front of the counter, obviously waiting for the small man to return so that they could discuss the bill. Somehow, his lackadaisical attitude increased Harry's anxiety, and he was seriously considering taking matters into his own hands when the bell tinkled again and another man strode into the shop.

The stranger was tall, if not so tall as Adam, and something about him made Harry's hackles rise. His dark green uniform coat and obvious military bearing made it clear that this was not a person to be trifled with, but there was an ineffable aura of latent danger about him: his eyes flashed as he assessed Adam, gaze alighting on Adam's jeans, and Harry was certain it wouldn't take much at all for him to draw the sword at his belt, on whose hilt his hand rested.

"Fine morning, isn't it?" said Adam cheerfully. Harry knew that Adam wouldn't do anything to provoke this man, and yet he was still uneasy.

The man stared at Adam. "Have we met?"

"I don't believe so," Adam said breezily, with an ironic bow. "Percy Blakeney, Baronet, at your service."

Harry kept himself from groaning aloud only with superhuman effort. Adam's propensity for the absurd occasionally made him wonder whether his officer wasn't better suited for a career as a B-list starlet.

Meanwhile, the stranger's eyes had narrowed, "Colonel William Tavington," he said shortly, punctuating the statement with a stiff incline of the head. "Tell me, Sir Percy, where is your family's estate?"

Adam hesitated for half a second. "Shropshire," he drawled.

Tavington nodded, looking wary, then turned his attention to the tea on the shelves behind him.

"You like tea, then?" Adam continued in his most winsome voice.

Tavington made a noncommittal noise.

"Or perhaps your wife does," suggested Adam.

Tavington whirled around and stepped toward Adam, hand caressing the hilt of his sword. "I will thank you to make no such presumptions about my personal life, sir," he growled.

"Sorry—I didn't mean—" stuttered Adam, his eyes darting back to where Lucas and Harry now stood. "I just thought that perhaps your wife had sent you out on an errand, you know…" His voice trailed off.

"Do I strike you as the sort of man likely to run errands for a woman?" inquired Tavington, his tone threatening.

"Of course not! I just—is buying tea something men do?" Adam was clearly losing his nerve. Without speaking, Harry and Lucas both shoved back their chairs, leapt up, and hurried to his defense.

But it was too late. "A duel, sir," breathed Tavington. "Or—I see you are accompanied by friends; perhaps you would prefer that one of them perform this particular _errand_ for you?"

Adam looked helplessly at Harry, who thought quickly. He wasn't at all sure that Adam could stand up to this fellow, particularly given that he had no sword. "Harry," said Lucas quietly, "let me." Harry looked at him, considering. Lucas might be able to hold his own, but in either case, Harry was sure to be sending one of his officers into grave danger. Three pairs of eyes rested on Harry, awaiting his decision.

_**If Harry decides that Adam should get himself out of the situation, go to Chapter 10**_

_**If Harry decides that Lucas is more capable of standing up to Tavington, go to Chapter 11**_


	7. Chapter 7

Harry sighed. "It'll have to be clothes. I'm hungry too," he snapped, seeing that Adam was about to protest, "but we haven't got a choice. Your trousers are the reason everyone's staring at us." Adam frowned, obviously unwilling to concede the point, but wisely said nothing.

"There might be some shops in Chancery Lane," suggested Lucas.

Harry nodded. "Lead on."

He was glad he wasn't the one leading the way: children, horses, dogs, and carriages all seemed to leap out of Lucas's way, perhaps because his height made him so imposing, but Harry very much doubted that he would be quite so successful at circumventing the myriad obstacles of a crowded London street. They crossed the street and walked past the spot where the Royal Courts of Justice were meant to be, Harry looking determinedly away from the Twinings awning beckoning him from across the street. As they walked, they pointedly ignored the questioning gazes that followed in their wake; Harry wondered idly if this would encourage Adam to dress more formally for work in future.

Before long, they had turned into Chancery Lane, and sure enough, they were greeted almost immediately by the welcome sight of a shop window displaying a man's suit. Lucas looked questioningly back at Harry, who nodded, and they all ducked into the shop, a bell tinkling merrily to signal their arrival.

The inside of the building was quite dim, and they all stood blinking for a moment, eyes adjusting to the low light. Gradually, Harry's vision cleared to reveal a small but well-maintained space, several prominent shelves showcasing a selection of cravats. The shop was devoid of any human presence, however.

Adam nodded to a bell perched atop a handsome oak counter. "Seems we'll need to summon someone," he said. Harry reached for the bell, but before he could ring it, the bell at the door sounded again, and the trio turned as one to assess the newcomer.

The gentleman who had entered was the epitome of Harry's mental image of a dandy: shining boots, which reflected the vibrant purple scarf wrapped around his waist, accented a perfectly-tailored dark green coat over a gratuitously ruffled shirt. The lazy self-confidence that one would expect from such a gentleman, however, was here replaced by pure, honest enthusiasm. Harry, always a good judge of character, was proved correct in his assumptions as soon as the man spoke.

"Why, I thought I knew everyone who came here, but clearly that was an incorrect presumption on my part!" The man's voice was perfectly in line with his words, his tone betraying nothing but the obvious interest and excitement his manner indicated. Beside him, Harry felt Lucas and Adam relax slightly and knew that they too saw that this man was to be trusted. "But I forget my manners. Sir James T. Lawrence at your service."

"Adam Carter at yours," said Adam with alacrity. Harry cringed inwardly at Adam's indiscretion—it shocked him that his officer would be so rash as to reveal his true name during a first meeting with a person whose allegiances were as yet unknown. Then again, it was hardly likely they'd run into anyone they knew. "These are my companions, Lucas North and Sir Harry Pearce."

This time, Harry's cringe was outward as well as in. Telling this Lawrence fellow their real names was one thing, but throwing Harry's title into the mix was quite another. Sure enough, Lawrence picked up on this straightaway. "Delighted, Sir Harry! But I thought I was acquainted with all of the notables in London." He phrased this as though it were a question, leaving Harry to maneuver his way out of Adam's mess.

"Er," said Harry uncomfortably. "I live in—Northumberland."

"But I'm from Durham!" said Lawrence delightedly. "We might be neighbors. Tell me, what is the name of your family's estate?"

Harry was saved from answering by the sudden arrival of the previously invisible shop owner. He emerged from a back room and, scanning the room quickly, focused his attentions on Lawrence. "Sir James," he said ingratiatingly, bowing deeply. "It is an honor, as always. How may I help you?"

"Oh, no, these gentlemen were here before I arrived," said Lawrence, gesturing to Harry.

"Please," said Harry politely, grateful for the shift in Lawrence's attention. "We're in no hurry."

"Well, I _am_ somewhat pressed for time…If you're certain…?" Lawrence looked simultaneously grateful and ashamed that he was obliged to take advantage of the offer. At a nod from Harry, he turned back to the shopkeeper. "I need a pair of gloves. You know, for Sir Thomas's party this afternoon."

"Of course," said the shopkeeper. "I have just the thing! In from Paris this week." He bowed deeply and disappearing once more.

"Oh—how rude of me!" Lawrence cried, turning back to Harry. "Of course you know Sir Thomas?"

"Erm," said Harry noncommittally.

"Well, I suppose you might not, if you're new to London," said Lawrence. "No matter—Sir Thomas is always so hospitable. I know he'd simply _love_ to have you!"

"Erm," said Harry again, wishing one of his useless officers would do something to extract them from the situation.

"Don't be silly, Sir Harry—you must accompany me!" Lawrence was gazing at him with such earnestness that Harry found himself responding without meaning to.

"Er—all right," he said, feeling sheepish. He felt rather than saw Lucas's disapproval, but there was nothing for it—they didn't have a valid excuse, and perhaps they might even find someone who knew what the bloody hell was going on.

"Of course, Sir Thomas is quite fashion-forward, and you're not _precisely_ attired for a party…" Lawrence ran a critical eye over Harry's person, and then turned his attention to his companions. "Tell me, Mr. Carter, wherever did you get those trousers? They're quite natty! Sir Thomas will admire them greatly!"

Seeing the look on Adam's face as Lawrence stared openly at his jeans gave Harry a distinct sense of satisfaction. After all, he had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

_**Continue to Chapter 12**_


	8. Chapter 8

At that moment, there was nothing in the world—aside from a logical explanation for all this absurdity—that Harry wanted more than a good whisky. "Pub," he announced firmly, staring down Lucas's protest. "Food would do us all some good. And perhaps we can do some footwork while we're out there amongst the masses."

Adam looked distinctly relieved, and Lucas set his jaw and nodded. "Right," said Harry. "Any ideas as to where there might be a pub in this vicinity?"

"Perhaps if we just wander down toward Fleet Street?" said Adam. "And then we'll be in the general vicinity of Middle Temple anyway—we could go there after we eat."

Lucas nodded silently and began walking purposefully down the street. Harry was glad he wasn't the one leading the way: children, horses, dogs, and carriages all seemed to leap out of Lucas's way, perhaps because his height made him so imposing, but Harry very much doubted that he would be quite so successful at circumventing the myriad obstacles of a crowded London street. As they walked, they pointedly ignored the questioning gazes that followed in their wake; Harry wondered idly if this would encourage Adam to dress more formally for work in future.

Just after they had passed Chancery Lane, Lucas halted. "There?" he inquired, nodding toward a sign bearing a faded rooster that hung over the doorway of a dingy-looking pub.

Harry shrugged and followed Lucas into the pub. A plaque next to the door proclaimed it "Ye Olde Cock Tavern," which rang a faint bell in Harry's mind, though he wasn't sure why.

It took a moment for Harry's eyes to adjust to the dimly-lit pub, but he could see that the space was far from full. He, Lucas, and Adam sat down at a table near the front window, each observing the pub's other patrons furtively. After several moments of sitting in silence, the pub's owner arrived at their table with a trio of questionably clean mugs full of dark beer and a loaf of bread. All three of them tore into the bread ravenously, and as he took a large swig of his beer, Harry wondered whether there was really anything better than a pint when one found oneself in a stressful situation.

As Harry took another sip of beer, his stomach feeling pleasantly full, the door to the pub opened, and a well-heeled young man entered, wearing what Harry identified as the uniform of a naval officer. He scanned the pub's crowd, frowning, until his gaze alighted on Harry and his companions. His countenance brightened visibly, and he marched over to their table as the three spooks watched, identical expressions of suspicion on their faces.

"So lovely to see you all! Might I join you?" said the sailor brightly. When he received no response, he continued hastily, "Oh—I'm forgetting my manners! Sir Henry Milner, HMS _Jolly Good_—delighted to make your acquaintance." He pulled out a chair and deposited himself in it, seemingly oblivious to the fact that none of the table's three occupants had given the slightest indication that he was welcome.

"You must be Sir Harry," said Milner, reaching for a piece of bread.

Harry nearly choked on his beer. "What—how did—?"

"Oh, word travels quickly," Milner replied airily.

Before Harry could even process this statement, Lucas was behind Milner, his pocket knife pressed to the sailor's throat. "You'll have to do better than that," he growled threateningly. "We don't want to attract unnecessary attention here."

"All right," gasped Milner. "Bligh told me to find you."

"You know Bligh?" said Harry suspiciously, pleased to note that Lucas had not relaxed his hold on Milner. "Where is he?"

"On business," said Milner. "You've really made a mess of things, you know. Bligh wasn't pleased—well, he's never really pleased, is he? But he asked me to find you."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Well, it's _business_, isn't it?" said Milner, lowering his voice and winking at Harry. "You know. Only I hadn't the foggiest idea where to find you. So I thought I'd stop in at my favorite pub—and here you are!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Whoever this sailor was, he appeared to pose no real threat to them—and it would be better for everyone if Milner thought they trusted him. Harry nodded to Lucas, who relaxed his hold on Milner reluctantly and sat back down, still clutching his knife.

"Thank you," said Milner to Lucas, who looked distinctly disgruntled at not being permitted to threaten him further. He nodded to the stoic pub owner, who had been disinterestedly watching the scene unfold; the man appeared at his elbow a moment later with another foaming mug of beer. Milner took a long swallow, sighed contentedly, and turned back to his new companions. "Right. We'll want to stay together, of course—wouldn't want to lose you somewhere in London!"

"Where is Bligh now?" demanded Harry, annoyed that neither of his officers seemed to be overly concerned with this point.

"Can't tell you that, sorry," said Milner cheerily, his mouth full of bread.

"Where is the rendez-vous?" growled Harry, now getting actually angry.

"Can't tell you that either." Milner drained his beer and stood up. "Shall we?"

"We're not moving until you tell us where we are going," Lucas said, his voice low and threatening.

"Oh—to a party, of course!" said Milner. Seeing the lack of enthusiasm on their faces, he quickly continued. "You simply _must_ come along! All sorts of interesting people to meet. And Bligh might be there as well," he added as an afterthought.

The spooks exchanged a glance. "It's not like we have anything better to do, really," said Adam. "And besides, we should be trying to gather some sort of information—sounds like this would be a good opportunity."

"All right," sighed Harry, feeling that he had somehow been outwitted.

Milner clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Excellent! Follow me!"

He drained his beer, slapped a handful of coins on the table, and stood up, beckoning to his companions. Reluctantly (at least on Harry's part), they followed him out into the street. They continued back along Fleet Street the way they had come, eventually turning up Chancery Lane. On some level, Harry realized that it was ridiculous to be following this sailor all over London for no good reason; but he simply didn't have any alternate plan.

As they made their way up Chancery past a clothing shop, Milner slowed. "You know, I do need a pair of gloves," he said, his tone somewhat guilty. "Would you mind terribly if…?"

But before he could finish his sentence, the door to the shop opened, and out stepped a gentleman who was the epitome of Harry's mental image of a dandy: shining boots, a perfectly-tailored dark green coat over a gratuitously ruffled shirt, and a purple scarf wrapped around his waist.

"Sir Henry!" gasped the gentleman. "Why, I never thought to see you this afternoon!" Stepping forward, he grasped Milner's hand and shook it energetically.

"Sir James Lawrence! Might I present my companions—Sir Harry Pearce, of course, and—oh, dear, how frightfully rude of me—I'm afraid I didn't get your names!" Milner looked pained.

Adam stepped forward. "Adam Carter at your service," he said. "And this is Lucas North." He nodded toward Lucas, who looked surly.

"How lovely to meet you all!" Lawrence clapped his hands and bowed deeply toward Harry. "Especially you, Sir Harry. Only—I thought I was acquainted with all the notables in London!"

Harry was saved from answering by Milner. "They arrived this morning with Bligh," he said, winking. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have been absolutely dumbfounded at the lack of discretion surrounding what was obviously meant to be a covert operation; but as it was, all he could do was roll his eyes and go along with the absurdity.

"With _Bligh_?" Lawrence's eyes widened. "Bligh is here?" He frowned. "Then—why in the world are you _here_, Sir Henry?"

Milner looked uncomfortable. "Well—I—erm...I thought perhaps…" He trailed off, obviously cowed by the stern look Lawrence was giving him.

Suddenly, Lawrence brightened. "I know just the thing! They can accompany me to Sir Thomas's party!"

"That's where I was going to take them," said Milner, abashed.

"Well, they can come with me, and you can attend to business!" Lawrence was obviously enthused by this plan and turned to the spooks, eyeing their garb with a practiced eye. "Of course, Sir Thomas is quite fashion-forward, and you're not _precisely_ attired for a party…but no matter! He'll certainly understand!"

"Right!" Lawrence clapped his hands again. "We'll be off, then." He looked at Milner, who nodded.

"And I'll just—go, then—cheers! Bye! Cheers!" He bowed several times toward his companions and rushed off down the lane.

"Onward to Sir Thomas's, then!" They set off up the street, Lawrence immediately turning to Adam. "Do tell me, Mr. Carter, wherever did you get those trousers? They're quite natty! Sir Thomas will admire them greatly!"

Harry massaged his temples in a futile effort to ward off an impending headache. It was shaping up to be an unbearable day.

_**Continue to Chapter 12**_


	9. Chapter 9

Harry sighed. "You'd better be right, Lucas."

Adam looked dejected, but Lucas nodded. "Let's go." He began walking purposefully down the street. Harry was glad he wasn't the one leading the way: children, horses, dogs, and carriages all seemed to leap out of Lucas's way, perhaps because his height made him so imposing, but Harry very much doubted that he would be quite so successful at circumventing the myriad obstacles of a crowded London street. As they walked, they pointedly ignored the questioning gazes that followed in their wake; Harry wondered idly if this would encourage Adam to dress more formally for work in future.

It wasn't long before they were rounding the corner toward Middle Temple, dodging several carriages and avoiding catching the eye of a woman peddling vegetables who seemed to be fascinated by them (or at least Adam). Harry cast a longing glance back at Twinings—he would have loved to have stopped in for a spot of breakfast—but there was nothing to be done. Lucas's "feelings" turned out to mean something too often for Harry to ignore this one.

Lucas halted as they reached the doorway and turned to look at Harry. "Well?" barked Harry, who was now rather regretting his decision. "What are you waiting for?"

To his credit, Lucas looked somewhat discomfited at being the object of Harry's disapproval. "I don't know—you know, whether we're meant to go in." He nodded toward an imposing oak door.

Adam looked smug. "Let's just go back and get a pint, then? Regroup a bit?" He nodded encouragingly toward Harry, who glared back.

Just then, the oak door swung open, and the trio stepped back automatically. The man who exited the building, however, was anything but imposing. Though not overly tall, he was undeniably handsome, though Harry's eye was immediately drawn to his clothing: from the perfectly polished buckles on his shoes to his tight coral-colored breeches to the swathes of lace adorning the collar and cuffs of his floral-printed waistcoat, it was clear that this man was a dandy.

The stranger surveyed them, an expectant but not unfriendly look in his eye. "Well, gentlemen, I thought I knew every member of Middle Temple, but perhaps I've been out of Britain for too long," he drawled. Harry cringed slightly: the man's accent indicated that he was from the southern United States, and Harry had never been overly fond of American accents.

"We're not members," said Adam, obviously fascinated by the man's lacy cuffs. "Just visitors."

"We're looking for a friend," put in Lucas gruffly.

"And may I ask what your friend's name is? Perhaps I might be able to assist you gentlemen in locating him," said the man, smiling in what Harry felt was a condescending manner.

"We're looking for Bligh," said Adam, managing to finish his sentence before Lucas elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

But the dandy didn't seem to notice this. "Bligh, you say? Why, of course I know Bligh, though I can't imagine why you'd be looking for him at Middle Temple!" He surveyed them for a moment, then smiled. "Can't say I like the fellow much, but he does make life more interesting. Oh—but I haven't even introduced myself yet! Edward Rutledge at your service." He bowed deeply.

Harry and Lucas looked at each other, silently debating whether it was worthwhile to adopt a cover given the circumstances, but Adam solved the problem for them. "Rutledge! The Declaration of Independence!" Rutledge tried to look modest as Adam seized his hand and pumped it vigorously; Harry felt vaguely that this was completely inappropriate, given the fact that the declaration in question had been an act of treason against the government that Adam had promised to serve, but he knew that his officer had a soft spot for American history. "Adam Carter! Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir!"

This was going too far—though Harry supposed it had settled the question of covers for them. "Harry Pearce," he said, "and Lucas North," indicating Lucas, who nodded curtly.

"Delighted to meet you all," drawled Rutledge, extricating his hand from the grasp of Adam, who looked rather starstruck. "I do hate to be rude, but I've just got to stop in for a new pair of gloves—won't you all accompany me?"

"Of course," said Adam hastily. Harry glared at him but said nothing, and they set off up the street together, Rutledge and Adam leading the way (and, from the sounds of it, having an enthusiastic discussion about American independence). Harry glared at Lucas, who wisely kept silent as he loped along next to him.

They crossed Fleet Street and headed up Chancery Lane, where they halted next to a shop window displaying a man's suit. Following Rutledge's lead, they all ducked into the shop, a bell tinkling merrily to signal their arrival.

The inside of the building was quite dim, and they all stood blinking for a moment, eyes adjusting to the low light. Gradually, Harry's vision cleared to reveal a small but well-maintained space, several prominent shelves showcasing a selection of cravats. In the midst of this space was a man bedecked in shining boots, a vibrant purple scarf wrapped around his waist, and a perfectly-tailored dark green coat over a gratuitously ruffled shirt. The most remarkable thing about this man, however, was the air of utter delight with which he greeted them.

"Rutledge!" he cried, bounding over to that gentleman and seizing his hand. "What a pleasure to see you!"

"A delight as always," drawled Rutledge. "Sir James Lawrence, please allow me to present my new friends—Sir Harry Pearce, Mr. North, and Mr. Carter."

Lawrence looked as if he couldn't decide which way to look first. "Delighted to meet you all! And, Sir Harry, what a pleasure to meet you! But I thought I was acquainted with all of the notables in London." He phrased this as though it were a question.

"Er," said Harry uncomfortably. "I live in—Northumberland."

"But I'm from Durham!" said Lawrence delightedly. "We might be neighbors. Tell me, what is the name of your family's estate?"

Harry was saved from answering by a bell tolling somewhere in the distance. "I must be going!" cried Rutledge. "Haydn's in London, you know, and giving a recital at the Pantheon. You wouldn't care to come along?"

Lawrence looked pained. "Sir Thomas's party, you know. Of course you know Sir Thomas?" he said, turning to Harry.

"Erm," said Harry noncommittally.

Now Rutledge was scrutinizing him as well. "Of course you _must_ know Sir Thomas, if you know Bligh."

Lawrence looked dumbfounded. "Bligh? _Lieutenant _Bligh? Is he in London now?" They both turned to stare at Harry.

"We arrived with him this morning," said Harry. "We're—er—meeting up with him later." He hoped fervently that this was true.

Lawrence and Rutledge looked at each other. "He'll probably come to Sir Thomas's," mused Lawrence. "Well, Sir Thomas is always so hospitable. I know he'd simply _love_ to have you! Of course, Sir Thomas is quite fashion-forward, and you're not _precisely_ attired for a party…" Lawrence ran a critical eye over Harry's person, and then turned his attention to his companions. "Tell me, Mr. Carter, wherever did you get those trousers? They're quite natty! Sir Thomas will admire them greatly!"

Now it was Adam's turn to be under the uncomfortable scrutiny of two dandies. Harry felt a distinct sense of Schadenfreude.

"Well, I must be going—meeting a fellow before the recital," said Rutledge, tipping a wink in Lawrence's direction. "Of course you're welcome to meet me there, if you have any interest in Haydn's music. I do hope to see you all soon!" He bowed to them all, waved to Lawrence, and rushed out of the shop.

The problem was that Harry _did_ in fact have great interest in Haydn's music—to see the man in person would be incredible. On the other hand, attending this party at "Sir Thomas's" would, though unbearable, likely prove a fruitful step toward locating Bligh.

_**If Harry decides that they should all go to Sir Thomas's, go to Chapter 12**_

_**If Harry can't resist the temptation of seeing Haydn perform, go to Chapter 13**_


	10. Chapter 10

Harry paused, thinking; he appreciated Lucas's offer, but Adam would have to get himself out of this one—and he didn't see how dragging Lucas into the situation would help at all. He looked back at Lucas and shook his head slightly.

"Very well, _Sir Percy_," drawled Tavington. "Shall we step into the street?" He grinned rather nastily at Adam, who looked somewhat paler than usual. "After you." He bowed ironically, following Adam out of the shop; Harry and Lucas followed at his heels.

The party halted in the middle of the street, Tavington and Adam facing each other. Adam cast an obvious glance toward Tavington's sword. "I don't…have a sword," he said awkwardly. "Could we just, er—engage in fisticuffs?" He cast Harry a panicked look, clearly struggling with the terminology.

Tavington lifted an eyebrow. "_Don't have a sword?_" he repeated. "And yet you claim to be a gentleman. Well, I suppose they do things differently in _Shropshire_…"

A crowd of onlookers had already amassed, forming a lopsided circle around the combatants amidst the commotion of the street. "Er," said Adam, obviously uncomfortable at the audience. "Well—shall we just—get on with it?"

Tavington regarded him silently for a moment, then smiled unpleasantly. "If you insist," he said, and without further warning launched himself at Adam's throat.

Harry, who was familiar with Adam's prowess in physical fights, relaxed slightly as he saw the two begin to spar. With any luck, Tavington would admit defeat in moments, and they could be off to find Bligh. But Tavington was surprisingly quick on his feet, seemingly impervious to Adam's usually devastating offense.

As it turned out, however, the "duel" (Harry had some difficulty aligning his mental picture of a proper duel with the two figures grappling before him in what looked more like what they called mixed martial arts) was over even sooner than Harry had anticipated. "Pardon me!" bellowed a deep voice; the crowd parted to make way for a uniformed man on horseback to enter the circle. "Away with you all!" The crowd slowly began to disperse, some looking back over their shoulders as they meandered away.

The man, evidently a sheriff's deputy of some sort, leapt down from his horse and stalked toward the combatants, who had paused their fight as the crowd moved away.

"Colonel Tavington?" said the uniformed man, obviously perplexed. "Sir, what is the meaning of this?"

Tavington glared back at him. "This man insulted my wife."

"I didn't—!" began Adam, but the deputy had already started toward him.

"Can't allow strangers to make free to insult one of our most esteemed war heroes," he said. He bowed toward Tavington, his gaze resting suspiciously on Adam's attire as he straightened up.

"What war?" Adam asked. With a growl, Tavington started toward him, but the deputy held up a hand.

"Don't bother yourself about him, Colonel. I'll take him back with me."

"Where are you taking me?" said Adam, his voice rising slightly in pitch.

The man stared at him. "The Tower, of course."

Adam stared back. "Of London?"

This was getting to be too much. If he didn't stop talking soon, Adam was going to get them all in trouble. "Adam," said Harry warningly.

The deputy whirled around to face him. "You know this man?"

"Yes, he and that taller man there both witnessed the insult and did nothing to stop their companion," drawled Tavington.

"Well then," said the man. "You can all come with me. Colonel, thank you for your assistance in apprehending these criminals."

Tavington bowed. "My pleasure." Harry thought he saw a hint of a smile in the icy blue eyes; he vowed, if he ever saw this man again, that he would repay him in kind.

"All of us?" said Lucas. "We didn't do anything!" Though it wasn't precisely professional of him to point this out, Harry secretly agreed.

"You should have known better than to allow this man to insult the Colonel," said the deputy, frowning at them. "No, it's off to the Tower with you." He pulled out a bit of rope and, before he could protest, began to tie Adam's hands behind him.

Harry watched helplessly. He and Lucas could still get away; but these men were both armed, and they couldn't just leave Adam. Meekly, he allowed his own hands to be bound. All they could do at this point was start thinking of how to escape—and how to get home.

* * *

Three hours later, none of them had thought of anything. After parting ways with Tavington, who seemed intensely amused at their predicament, they had been shoved unceremoniously into a dank, windowless cell that smelled of manure and, strangely, cloves. Harry was already at his wit's end.

"You _could_ have helped, you know," said Adam accusingly, for about the hundredth time.

"Well, if _you_ hadn't dived into the situation headfirst without thinking first—" began Lucas.

"_Stop this now!_" bellowed Harry. "If I have to listen to this argument one more time, I am dismissing you both from the Service the moment we get home!" To their credit, both of his officers immediately stopped talking. Harry took a deep breath. "Now. We need to get out of this prison, and then we need to get home. Adam?"

"Tunneling's out," said Adam.

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Given that we're upstairs, I'd say so."

Adam glared at him. "What's your suggestion, then?"

"Bribe," said Lucas immediately. "I'm sure that was fairly standard practice back—er—whenever we are now."

"You're probably right," said Adam begrudgingly. "But if you haven't noticed, we haven't got any money. Or at least anything that passes for money now."

"My watch," said Lucas. "Bet they'd go crazy trying to figure out how it works."

"But doesn't that interfere with—you know—the laws of time?" said Adam. "The grandfather paradox and all that?"

"I'm not advocating any of us fathering a child while we're here," growled Lucas.

"Yeah, but the technology—" began Adam.

"This is absurd," said Harry, resting his head in his hands.

"Do you have a better idea?" said Lucas.

Harry didn't bother looking up. Trying to bribe a guard might get them out, but it could very well backfire and get them all strung up on the gallows; on the other hand, he had no idea how else they would ever get out of here.

_**If Harry decides that Lucas should try to bribe the guard, go to Chapter 14**_

_**If Harry decides the bribe is too risky, go to Chapter 15**_


	11. Chapter 11

Harry considered for a moment. Physically, both Adam and Lucas could certainly stand up to Tavington, but Adam was much more likely to elevate the situation and get them all in more trouble. He nodded almost imperceptibly to Lucas, who immediately strode forward.

"Why don't you leave this to me," he said to Adam. Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Tavington pre-empted him.

"Ah, so you are willing to send your servant to die for you? And you call yourself a _gentleman_?" sneered Tavington, giving Lucas's all-black attire a once-over.

"I'm not his servant," said Lucas gruffly. Before Tavington could do more than stare menacingly back at him, he had stepped forward and grasped the other man's arm. Tavington's brow lowered threateningly as he half-drew his sword from its hilt, but Lucas had begun to whisper urgently, and Tavington's expression changed gradually into one of angry perplexity.

Adam, who had sidled back to Harry's side, was now leaning in far too close to Harry for his comfort. "What's he saying?" whispered Adam loudly.

Harry glared at him and moved away pointedly. He had no better idea than Adam did as to what Lucas was up to, but whispering about it like a pair of schoolgirls was not going to provide any clarity. He peered around, wondering where the little man who had served them their tea had got to and how they were to pay for their meal after all. A moment later, a sharp elbow in the ribs caused him to whirl around to face Adam once more. "_What?_" he growled.

"Where do you think they're going?" Harry turned to look where Adam was pointing, just in time to see Lucas exiting the shop, Tavington marching behind him. "Do you think he's going to kill Lucas? Should we—"

"No," said Harry firmly. Whatever was happening with Tavington, he knew Lucas had a plan, and he had no choice but to trust in his officer's competency, however much he disliked the idea of their splitting up. "We are going to do what we should have done earlier and get you some new trousers." He glared at Adam's jeans.

Adam looked slightly discomfited. "What about paying for breakfast?"

"Given how well that worked the first time, we're going to leave now. I will be sure to buy copious amounts of tea from Twinings the next time I'm there to make up for it," he said, interrupting Adam's nascent protest. "Come."

He marched out of the shop and across the dizzying street, not looking right or left. Adam followed in his wake like a dog. "Harry, where are we going?"

"I told you. Trousers," barked Harry. He felt slightly ridiculous going shopping with a member of his team, but there was nothing for it: he needed something to do, and since he could neither aid Lucas nor find Bligh, all he could do was to ensure that Adam's lower half wasn't attracting undue attention.

Harry strode purposefully down the street, Adam at his heels. "Where are we _going_?" asked Adam again, dodging a stray dog and nearly colliding with what Harry supposed was a policeman of some description. He looked after them suspiciously, staring at Adam's jeans.

"Chancery Lane," said Harry firmly. He hadn't known this until he said it, but he knew it was a good idea: there was bound to be a tailor there.

Before long, they had turned into Chancery Lane, and sure enough, they were greeted almost immediately by the welcome sight of a shop window displaying a man's suit. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Harry headed into the shop with Adam, a bell tinkling merrily to signal their arrival.

The inside of the building was quite dim, and they stood blinking for a moment, eyes adjusting to the low light. Gradually, Harry's vision cleared to reveal a small but well-maintained space, several prominent shelves showcasing a selection of cravats. The shop was devoid of any human presence, however.

Adam nodded to a bell perched atop a handsome oak counter. "Seems we'll need to summon someone," he said. Harry reached for the bell, but before he could ring it, the door opened again and Lucas, panting, stepped in and shut it behind him.

"Lucas!" said Adam loudly. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said Lucas calmly.

Harry frowned at Lucas. His trousers were thoroughly muddy, and he appeared to have been sweating profusely. What could he have been up to? "Where's Tavington?"

"I took care of it," Lucas said firmly. "He's out of our hair."

"Why are you all muddy? Did you duel?" Adam's voice was rising in pitch, as it did when he was panicked.

"I can't tell you right now!" said Lucas, his own voice rising heatedly. "Just don't worry about it!"

Harry stepped forward threateningly, but before he could do more than brandish a finger at Lucas, the bell at the door sounded yet again, and the trio turned as one to assess the newcomer.

The gentleman who had entered was the epitome of Harry's mental image of a dandy: shining boots, which reflected the vibrant purple scarf wrapped around his waist, accented a perfectly-tailored dark green coat over a gratuitously ruffled shirt. The lazy self-confidence that one would expect from such a gentleman, however, was here replaced by pure, honest enthusiasm. Harry, always a good judge of character, was proved correct in his assumptions as soon as the man spoke.

"Why, I thought I knew everyone who came here, but clearly that was an incorrect presumption on my part!" The man's voice was perfectly in line with his words, his tone betraying nothing but the obvious interest and excitement his manner indicated. "But I forget my manners. Sir James T. Lawrence at your service."

"Adam Carter at yours," said Adam with alacrity. Harry cringed inwardly at Adam's indiscretion—but then again, his use of a pseudonym just now had nearly gotten him decapitated by a sword-wielding madman, so Harry supposed the use of his real name was an improvement. "These are my companions, Lucas North and Sir Harry Pearce."

This time, Harry's cringe was outward as well as in. Telling this Lawrence fellow their real names was one thing, but throwing Harry's title into the mix was quite another. Sure enough, Lawrence picked up on this straightaway. "Delighted, Sir Harry! But I thought I was acquainted with all of the notables in London." He phrased this as though it were a question, leaving Harry to maneuver his way out of Adam's mess.

"Er," said Harry uncomfortably. "I live in—Northumberland."

"But I'm from Durham!" said Lawrence delightedly. "We might be neighbors. Tell me, what is the name of your family's estate?"

Harry was saved from answering by the sudden arrival of the previously invisible shop owner. He emerged from a back room and, scanning the room quickly, focused his attentions on Lawrence. "Sir James," he said ingratiatingly, bowing deeply. "It is an honor, as always. How may I help you?"

"Oh, no, these gentlemen were here before I arrived," said Lawrence, gesturing to Harry.

"Please," said Harry politely, grateful for the shift in Lawrence's attention. "We're in no hurry."

"Well, I _am_ somewhat pressed for time…If you're certain…?" Lawrence looked simultaneously grateful and ashamed that he was obliged to take advantage of the offer. At a nod from Harry, he turned back to the shopkeeper. "I need a pair of gloves. You know, for Sir Thomas's party this afternoon."

"Of course," said the shopkeeper. "I have just the thing! In from Paris this week." He bowed deeply and disappearing once more.

"Oh—how rude of me!" Lawrence cried, turning back to Harry. "Of course you know Sir Thomas?"

"Erm," said Harry noncommittally.

"Well, I suppose you might not, if you're new to London," said Lawrence. "No matter—Sir Thomas is always so hospitable. I know he'd simply _love_ to have you!"

"Erm," said Harry again, wishing one of his useless officers would do something to extract them from the situation.

"Don't be silly, Sir Harry—you must accompany me!" Lawrence was gazing at him with such earnestness that Harry found himself responding without meaning to.

"Er—all right," he said, feeling sheepish. There was nothing for it—they didn't have a valid excuse, and perhaps they might even find someone who knew what the bloody hell was going on. He could feel Lucas's eyes boring into him, willing him to change his mind; but until Lucas explained exactly what he had done to get rid of Tavington, Harry was not inclined to consider his opinion.

"Of course, Sir Thomas is quite fashion-forward, and you're not _precisely_ attired for a party…" Lawrence ran a critical eye over Harry's person, and then turned his attention to his companions. "Tell me, Mr. Carter, wherever did you get those trousers? They're quite natty! Sir Thomas will admire them greatly!"

Seeing the look on Adam's face as Lawrence stared openly at his jeans gave Harry a distinct sense of satisfaction. After all, he had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

_**Continue to Chapter 12**_


	12. Chapter 12

Harry was in desperate need of a few minutes of solid thinking time. When Lawrence led them up the street and ushered them into his carriage, Harry had thought that perhaps he would have a few moments' peace to brainstorm a way out of this absurd situation for himself and his team. It became abundantly clear several minutes into their journey, however, that he was not to have any peace at all in which to contemplate their next move. Lawrence emitted a continuous stream of nonsense peppered with questions that continually caught Harry by surprise, interrupting his thought process and forcing him to fabricate answers instantly. The topics ranged from Lawrence's experience in the war ("Were you ever a military man, Sir Harry?") to Adam's jeans ("Mr. Carter, wherever did you get those trousers? Do you suppose you could recommend me to your tailor?") to his new gloves ("They're kidskin, you know!").

When the topic of conversation had circled back to Lawrence's horse Daniel for the third time in five minutes, Harry could take it no longer. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said loudly, "but where are we going?"

Lawrence looked puzzled. "Why, to Sir Thomas's, of course!"

"Yes, but _where_ is that?" growled Harry.

Lawrence's visage cleared abruptly. "Oh, forgive me, Sir Harry! I had forgotten that you are only recently arrived in London! Sir Thomas lives in Chelsea, naturally."

"Naturally," said Harry drily. "And how much further is his—er—estate?"

Lawrence peered out the window. "Ah! It's just around the corner!"

All three spooks turned to follow Lawrence's gaze. Harry spotted a handsome Georgian mansion (newly built, he realized with a shock) looming in front of them, surrounded by attractively landscaped gardens. As they descended from the carriage, Harry could hear a cacophony of voices emitting from somewhere out of sight.

Lawrence clapped his hands. "Well—shall we?" It was obvious that he was excited, not least from the meticulous way he was straightening his gloves as he led them up the grand steps and past a bowing butler into an imposing hall.

Almost immediately, they were surrounded. A horde of gentlemen, all wearing variations of Lawrence's ensemble, crowded around them, marveling at everything from the lace on Lawrence's cuffs to the cut of his new gloves (which Harry was growing rapidly tired of hearing about). After several minutes of basking in the admiration, Lawrence waved an arm, smiling graciously at the crowd around him.

"Thank you, gentlemen!" he said. "May I present my companions—Mr. Lucas North, Mr. Adam Carter, and _Sir_ Harry Pearce?"

Harry struggled to stop himself rolling his eyes at the emphasis placed on his title. Next to him, Adam gave an awkward bob somewhere between a bow and a curtsey, while Lucas nodded stoically.

"They have only just arrived in London from Northumberland—you know, my old stomping grounds," said Lawrence importantly. "And just look at Mr. Carter's trousers! Aren't they magnificent?"

Harry was gratified to see Adam's face growing red as the crowd's attention turned to his trousers. Of course there was no strict dress code at Thames House, but perhaps this would teach Adam that dress slacks would do just as well as jeans out in the field. "Where did you say you'd gotten them, Mr. Carter?"

Adam spluttered as the conversation ground to a halt, and a dozen pairs of eyes regarded him expectantly. "I—er—"

"Sir James," said a deep voice to Harry's left, and everyone turned to see its owner, a tall, well-built man in a beautifully tailored dark blue coat, striding into the hall from further back in the house.

Harry froze. There was no way—it _couldn't_ be—his mind was playing tricks on him—

"Tom?" said Adam loudly. "Tom Quinn?"

The man froze in the act of shaking Lawrence's gloved hand and turned to face Adam. His deep blue eyes roved over Adam, Lucas, and Harry, and a smile spread across his visage. "Why, if it isn't Adam Carter!"

He extracted his hand from Lawrence's and extended it toward Adam, who shook it, looking as perplexed as Harry felt. "What are you doing here?" Adam demanded. Harry could have slapped him.

"Why, this is my home!" said Tom, feigning (presumably) shock. "And Sir Harry! Well met, my good fellow!"

Leaving no time for Harry to be disgruntled about being called a "fellow" by his former officer, Tom grasped Harry's hand in both of his own. "So lovely to see you in London," he drawled. Harry, who felt increasingly out of his depth, wanted nothing more than a glass of brandy and some time with Tom in an interrogation room. As this was not a possibility, he could do nothing more than nod briskly.

"Sir Harry and I were at Eton together," said Tom to the group, and everyone, Lawrence included, nodded knowingly. Harry nearly snorted at the ridiculousness of this explanation, given that he was a good twenty years older than Tom, but everyone in their little group seemed perfectly happy to accept it.

Tom turned to Lucas. "I don't believe we've met?" he drawled pleasantly.

"Lucas North," said Lucas tersely. His reticence was commendable—Harry would have to remember to make a point of it in his performance review.

Tom smiled broadly. "Well, Mr. North, Mr. Carter, Sir Harry—welcome to my humble abode. I am so pleased that you found your way here!" He turned away abruptly. "Sir James, would you care to join me in the garden? We've just made arrangements for a game of badminton."

Lawrence clapped again. "Oh, I do love a game of shuttlecocks!"

The crowd, seeming to have forgotten about Harry and his companions, moved away after Lawrence and Sir Thomas (Harry snorted to himself as he imagined how Tom Quinn could possibly have become a knight of the realm). As they disappeared into the room from which Sir Thomas had emerged, he looked back over his shoulder and tipped Harry an enormous wink.

"Did you _see_ that?" demanded Adam incredulously. "What's he up to? How did he _get _here?"

"Shall we go after him, Harry?" asked Lucas.

Harry sighed loudly. Tom Quinn clearly had other priorities, and as Harry had decommissioned him, he had no further professional interest in his exploits. There were too many unanswered questions for Harry to deal with this one at the moment. "Let him go," he said firmly. "Tom Quinn is no longer my concern."

"But—" said Adam, obviously gearing up for an argument.

"No!" thundered Harry. "We're going!"

"Going where?" asked Lucas.

"My club," announced Harry, who had already begun to march back out the hall toward the door through which they had entered.

Adam and Lucas looked at each other. "Harry, I'm not sure that's a good idea—" began Lucas.

"I want somewhere where I can get a steak, and a glass of scotch, and some peace and quiet!" said Harry, his temper flaring. "We're going to my club!"

"But how will we get—" Adam began again, but Harry wheeled around on him.

"We are going to my club. I will eat a steak and drink a glass of scotch. I will think of some way out of this mess. And you will come with me and stop questioning my authority." Harry's voice was deadly quiet, and both of his officers knew better than to protest.

Feeling slightly relieved that at last _something_ was going as it should, Harry marched out the front door of Tom Quinn's house, his officers trailing meekly behind him, and set off toward his club.

_**Continue to Chapter 16**_


	13. Chapter 13

Harry regretted his decision almost as soon as he had made it. They had caught up with Rutledge just before he climbed into his coach, and he had delightedly offered to escort them to the recital. The coach ride seemed interminable; Rutledge seemed to have taken a liking to Adam, who was obviously flattered by the attention, and the two were chattering merrily about various figures in newly independent America, leaving Harry and Lucas to scowl in silence as the carriage bounced along. Harry spent most of the journey pondering whether the inducement of seeing one of his favorite composers in concert was worth putting up with the company, even for a short while.

At long last, the carriage came to a halt in Oxford Street, and Rutledge alighted gracefully, his companions clambering out behind him. Rutledge surveyed the crowd and, spotting a thin gentleman with an aristocratic face, waved merrily. The man, dressed in a similar fashion to Rutledge, waved a handkerchief back and started toward them. "My friends!" drawled Rutledge as the gentleman approached. "May I have the honor of presenting my friend from South Carolina, Mr. Arthur Middleton? He also signed the Declaration, you know," he added to Adam, who looked fit to burst with excitement.

"Gentlemen," drawled Middleton, his accent grating on Harry's ears just as Rutledge's did. "Any friend of Edward's…" He pulled out his handkerchief again and dabbed at his nose; Harry noticed that the corner of the item was embroidered delicately with the initials "A.H." He had no time (nor any inclination, truth be told) to ponder this further, as Rutledge was herding them into a magnificent Georgian building. Harry stepped through the door into a magnificent hall crowned by a rotunda, in which rows of benches were set facing what looked like a piano with the black and white keys inverted. Most of the crowd was already seated, and Rutledge ushered them quickly into a bench at the very front of the hall; Harry couldn't help feeling that all eyes were on them as they walked past the crowd and silently cursed Adam's jeans once again.

A moment later, a venerable-looking gentleman in a green velvet coat and powdered wig entered the hall to enthusiastic applause. He turned to the crowd, bowed elegantly, and sat down at the piano. As he began to play, Harry settled into his seat, closed his eyes, and lost himself in the music.

When Haydn stopped playing, Harry came back to himself with a shock. Enthusiastic shouts rang out amidst the thunderous applause in the hall as the crowd got to its feet. The great musician bowed again and exited, and the crowd began to file out of the hall. Harry made to follow them, but Rutledge placed a hand on his arm. "Sir Harry!" he cried. "We mustn't leave without saying hello!"

"Saying hello to whom?" said Harry testily. He had had rather enough of Rutledge and his fellows.

Rutledge looked surprised. "Why, to Papa Haydn, of course!"

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. "You—do you _know_ Haydn?"

"But of course!" said Rutledge, smiling broadly. "Doesn't everyone?" He winked at Adam, who looked impressed. "Come along, he'll be waiting!" And he marched off, Middleton and Adam in his wake. Harry and Lucas, who had been satisfactorily silent, exchanged a look, then followed.

They crossed the hall and entered a small side chamber in which half a dozen people were chatting merrily. Harry immediately spotted the great composer, who was chuckling merrily in the corner. "Aha!" Haydn cried, gesturing toward the new arrivals. "My dear Herr Rutledge!" He bowed toward Rutledge, who made a flourishing bow back. "You haff brought friends!"

"Indeed," drawled Rutledge. "You know Middleton, of course, and may I please present Sir Harry Pearce and his companions?"

"It is an honor!" said Haydn, bowing to Harry.

Harry bowed back stiffly, ignoring the rational voice in his brain that was steadfastly insisting that there was no way he could be exchanging pleasantries with an Austrian composer who had been dead for 200 years. "Herr Haydn," he replied.

Haydn waved a lace-cuffed hand. "Please, I am called Papa!" Harry nodded, utterly perplexed. Haydn smiled broadly at him. "And you and your friends will be staying for ze supper, of course?"

Harry was saved from answering by Rutledge, who sighed dramatically. "My dear Papa, I am afraid Arthur and I have a prior engagement. But perhaps Sir Harry and his friends—"

"No," interrupted Harry. "That is—we also have a—prior engagement." He could feel Adam and Lucas staring at him.

Haydn nodded sadly. "_Ja_, _ja_. Rutledge, we will meet soon. Sir Harry, it was pleasing!"

Harry nodded, then thought better of it and bowed awkwardly. Everyone else followed suit, and Harry turned and practically jogged out of the room, his officers trailing behind. He paused once they were out in Oxford Street once more, just long enough to bow in response to the farewells of Rutledge and Middleton, and then began to walk purposefully once more.

"Harry," said Adam tentatively. "Harry, where are we going?"

"My club," announced Harry.

Adam and Lucas looked at each other. "Harry, I'm not sure that's a good idea—" began Lucas.

"I want somewhere where I can get a steak, and a glass of scotch, and some peace and quiet!" said Harry, his temper flaring. "We're going to my club!"

"But how will we get—" Adam began again, but Harry wheeled around on him.

"We are going to my club. I will eat a steak and drink a glass of scotch. I will think of some way out of this mess. And you will come with me and stop questioning my authority." Harry's voice was deadly quiet, and both of his officers knew better than to protest.

Feeling slightly relieved that at last _something_ was going as it should, Harry turned on his heel. Humming one of Haydn's pieces to himself, he continued his march toward the club, his officers trailing meekly behind him.

_**Continue to Chapter 16**_


	14. Chapter 14

Harry sighed heavily. They had to get home, which presumably meant finding Bligh, and Harry couldn't see how they could possibly do that from the Tower of London. Besides, he thought wryly, Lucas had a better understanding of prisons than most.

He looked up at Lucas. "All right," he said, "we'll try it."

Lucas nodded, clenching the watch in his fist, and moved immediately toward the door of their cell, peering through the bars to see if he could discern a guard in the dim hallway.

"Harry, I don't think—" began Adam, but Harry silenced him with a glare.

"Excuse me, sir," said Lucas smoothly, as a burly guard passed by the door.

The guard whirled to face him, leering unpleasantly. "What d'you want?" he growled, his eyes roving around the cell and settling on Adam's jeans.

"Sir Harry Pearce" – Lucas bowed briefly toward Harry, who was suddenly unsure about the wisdom of setting Lucas loose – "appreciates his kind treatment in the Tower. As you know, he is a close friend of the King."

The guard looked wary. "They all say that, don' they?"

Lucas opened his fist to reveal the watch, gleaming silver in the dim light. "This timepiece was a gift from the Prince to Sir Harry. As you can see, it is of the highest quality, sent by the Crown Prince of Spain."

The guard stared at it. "Well…what of it?"

"The King would undoubtedly be displeased to learn that one of his closest companions has been treated in such a manner. He might be inclined to _punish_ those who had a hand in it."

Now the guard's face betrayed a flash of fear. "However," continued Lucas smoothly, "if Sir Harry is permitted to leave now, without any trouble, we can all forget this ever happened. Sir Harry would be very happy to bestow this gift upon you for your assistance in this matter."

The guard looked unsure for a moment, then reached for his keys, fumbling as he unlocked the door to the cell. "If you please, Sir," he said, ushering them out the door. Lucas patted him on the shoulder and handed him the watch as they all filed out of the cell.

"How the _hell_ did that work?" Adam whispered loudly as the guard led them down the hall and down a steep flight of stone steps.

Harry glared back at him. Secretly, Harry was wondering the same thing, but that didn't mean Adam needed to shout about it.

In no time at all, they were out in the courtyard. The guard scurried away up the stairs again without even saying goodbye. The three spooks looked at each other. "Now what?" said Adam.

"Follow me," said Lucas. He strode purposefully across the courtyard and back toward the gate, a stern expression on his face. No one questioned them, and a moment later, they were free of the Tower.

"Well, that was a freebie," said Adam.

"Thank you, Lucas," said Harry gruffly. The trio marched back up the bank and turned left, heading back the way they had come.

_**Continue to Chapter 20**_


	15. Chapter 15

Harry sighed. "It's a good idea, Lucas, but it's too risky. We'll think of something else."

Lucas frowned but, to his credit, kept quiet. They all lapsed into silence once more. Every now and again Adam came up with a hare-brained idea—"Maybe we should pretend Harry's ill, and then when the guard opens the door, Lucas and I can take him down!"—but after an hour of this, Harry's patience was wearing thin, and they were no closer to finding a way out of their predicament.

Just as Adam had begun to speak again ("What if I tell them we can predict the future?"), Harry heard voices from outside their cell. Adam fell silent, and they all listened as the voices came closer.

"…that perhaps new facilities are needed to cope with capacity," said a pleasant, aristocratic-sounding voice. "What is the present occupancy?"

"Erm," said a rather rougher voice, sounding from almost directly outside their cell.

A moment later, two men passed by the bars of their door. One was obviously a guard of some kind, tall and burly; the other, impeccably dressed, was shorter but carried himself proudly. He turned to peer into the dim cell, and Harry discerned a middle-aged man, obviously from the upper echelons of society. He barely had time to wonder what this gentleman was doing in a prison when the man, seeing Harry, cried, "Sir Harry Pearce!"

Harry had absolutely no idea how to respond to this. "Yes," he said, trying to sound authoritative, although he had not the foggiest idea who this dapper gentleman was.

The man turned to face the guard. "This will not do, Mr. Taylor! How did these gentlemen come to be here?"

"Erm," said the guard again, even more discomfited. "They were brought in this morning, milord. They were caught dueling."

"I very much doubt that Sir Harry Pearce was involved in a duel!" The man turned toward Lucas and Adam, his gaze settling briefly on Adam's jeans.

"It was me," said Adam. "I mean—I didn't want to duel, but Colonel Tavington thought I insulted him, or his wife, or something, and—"

The gentleman held up a hand. "Say no more. The Colonel has something of a reputation, and I must say it's deserved. But Sir Harry, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting your friends?" He nodded toward the door, and the guard, still looking uneasy, drew out his keys to unlock it.

Harry was utterly perplexed. How this stranger came to know his name was completely beyond him, and it was more than slightly worrying. On the other hand, he seemed to be their one ticket to freedom, and Harry couldn't see any harm in assuming he was an ally—at least until they were free of the Tower. "Ah—Adam Carter is the—gentleman who fell afoul of Colonel Tavington, and this is Lucas North."

"Lord John Grey at your service," said their rescuer, bowing to each of them. "Do follow me, gentlemen." Ensuring that they were in fact following him out of the cell, he led them down the narrow hallway and down a steep flight of stone steps, the guard bringing up the rear.

As they stepped out into the courtyard, Grey turned to face the guard. "I shall return in the morning to continue our inspection, Mr. Taylor."

The guard nodded and scurried back inside, leaving the spooks alone with Lord John Grey. He surveyed them, a twinkle in his eye. "I do hope you haven't been too badly treated," he said as he turned to walk across the courtyard.

"Oh—no," said Harry, feeling totally out of his depth.

"Have you been long in London?" asked Grey. "I had no idea of your coming so soon."

Harry had a vague feeling that this conversation was code for something, and he hadn't been clued in on the appropriate response. "We arrived only this morning," he said tersely.

This seemed to do the trick, as Grey merely nodded thoughtfully. He didn't say anything else until they had passed out of the gate, at which point he turned back to Harry. "Where will you—"

But his question was never finished, for he was interrupted by a shout from behind him. "My dear Lord John!"

Grey turned and, seeing a gentleman striding toward them, bowed low. "Your Majesty! I had not expected to have the pleasure of your company today!"

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Lucas, who obviously had no more idea than he did as to who this newcomer could be. He couldn't be king—or at least, Harry thought he couldn't; it was difficult to say, given that they didn't know precisely when they were, but Harry's instincts told him that an eighteenth-century English king would have rather less purple velvet and lace than this fellow was sporting.

It was Adam who came to the rescue, strangely. "It's the Prince Regent!" he hissed, bowing down behind Grey and yanking Harry and Lucas along with him.

This made perfect sense (if anything at all made sense at this point), and Harry felt a surge of gratitude for Adam's historical proclivities. He straightened up and found that the Prince Regent was staring at his tie.

"Ah—forgive me, your Majesty," said Grey quickly, realizing that the prince had observed his companions. "May I present Sir Harry Pearce and his friends, Mr. Carter and Mr. North?"

The prince nodded distractedly, his eyes still fixed on Harry's tie. "We were on our way to Sir Thomas's party, and we thought we might find you here and convince you to accompany us."

Grey looked pained. "Ah—I had not realized your Majesty anticipated my attendance. But of course I will be glad to attend."

The prince nodded again. He was now staring at Adam's jeans. "Where, sir, did you acquire those trousers?"

Adam fidgeted uncomfortably. Normally, Harry would have felt somewhat gratified at his officer's embarrassment about his inappropriate work attired; in this instance, however, he was simply concerned. How could they possibly explain away their thoroughly modern dress to a royal?

It was Lord John Grey who came to the rescue. "My friends have only just arrived in London, your Majesty. They encountered me almost immediately, and I have failed to give them an opportunity to acquire more suitable clothing. Their trunks have been lost, you see."

The prince raised an eyebrow. "What a nasty business travel is! Well, they shall have to accompany us to our tailor!"

Harry grimaced inwardly as he followed Grey's lead and bowed toward the prince. Going shopping with Adam and George IV was hardly his idea of an ideal afternoon activity.

* * *

An hour later, Harry found himself stood in a small but beautifully furnished shop, bedecked in buckled shoes, pantaloons, and a blue velvet coat over a frilly shirt with lace cuffs. Lucas and Adam were similarly ridiculously attired; however, where Lucas's expression mirrored Harry's own feelings about the situation, Adam looked rather delighted. He was now voluntarily examining a pair of gloves that Harry felt he would like to snatch from Adam's hand and slap him with.

The Prince Regent looked enormously pleased with his work. "Now, gentlemen, you are fit to be seen in London!"

"Thank you, your Majesty," mumbled Harry, bowing to hide his grimace. As he straightened up, he noticed a twitch at the corner of Grey's mouth. Harry still hadn't been able to ascertain how the devil this man knew who he was, but he had undoubtedly been helpful.

The prince clapped his hands. "We must be off to Sir Thomas's party!"

"I should of course be delighted to accompany your Majesty," said Grey quickly, "but I am afraid that our visitors have not received an invitation from Sir Thomas."

The prince paused, looking thoughtful. "That would of course be no obstacle for us, but Sir Thomas _is_ so particular about his guests. Perhaps you are correct, sir." And with no further indication of their existence, the Prince Regent bounded out of the shop and back into his carriage. Grey followed him out, and with an apologetic smile and a nod to Harry, they were gone.

"Now what?" said Lucas.

Harry surveyed himself and his officers. Absurd though they looked, they would blend in better in their new attire, and perhaps they could set about finding Bligh and getting home. "Back to the Strand, I suppose. Unless you have another idea as to where Bligh might be?"

"Oh, are we going home?" said Adam.

Harry rolled his eyes and marched out of the shop without a backward glance.

_**Continue to Chapter 21**_


	16. Chapter 16

To Harry's infinite relief, his club was both in existence at this time and willing to accept that Harry and his companions belonged there. All that was needed was an eloquent nod to the butler at the door and an indication that he knew his way around; really, all that had changed in two centuries was the décor. In no time at all, they were seated around a table in an otherwise empty dining room, sipping wine as they demolished the meals placed in front of them.

Adam and Lucas wisely kept conversation to a minimum as they dined, leaving Harry in peace to think. Not that he got very far: they had no idea where Bligh was, or even their new friend Lawrence, and they couldn't hope to get back without the help of one of these men. Harry very much disliked the idea that everyone else understood something he didn't, and he had to admit that he was at a loss for information in this particular situation.

Having finished his meal, Harry pushed back his chair and looked around, wishing fervently that he had a pipe. He was contemplating sending Adam to find one when two gentlemen entered the room. Both were well-dressed, approximately Harry's age, and looked vaguely familiar; they were chatting merrily in a language that sounded somewhat Germanic. As they proceeded into the room, both neb observed the spooks and, virtually simultaneously, came to a halt.

"Sir Harry!" cried the gentleman on the left, who had a considerable amount of dark hair and similarly impressive eyebrows.

"A pleasure to see you!" cried the other, who was rather blonder.

Harry was flummoxed. "I'm sorry," he began, "I don't seem to—"

The dark-haired man rushed forward to wring his hand. "I am Anders, sir!"

The other man bowed. "Jaap!" he said.

It took Harry a moment to realize that Jaap was the second man's name, rather than a greeting of some kind—and then he suddenly realized why they looked familiar. The sumptuous waistcoats and pantaloons had put him off the scent initially, but—surely, it couldn't be...?

Adam and Lucas were also staring at the new arrivals, and Harry knew they were as bewildered as he was. But they had no time to puzzle it out further, for Anders had seized Harry's hand once more and was shaking it enthusiastically. "A wonderful thing to see you here, Sir Harry!"

"_Wonderbaar_," said Jaap, wringing Harry's hand in his turn. "A magnificent pleasure!"

They both bowed to Adam and Lucas and, with a final nod at Harry, disappeared down the staircase.

Harry turned back to his officers. They looked as confused as he felt.

"Was that…?" said Lucas.

Adam shook his head as if trying to wake up. "It can't have been!"

"Never mind," said Harry briskly. This whole thing was bloody ridiculous, and he couldn't take any more. "Let's go."

Without further ado, he shoved back his chair and stood up, then marched out of the room and down the staircase. A moment later, they were out in the street, and as they began to walk, it occurred to Harry that he had no plan.

"Where are we going?" asked Lucas.

"Good question," Harry muttered.

"Look!" said Adam. "There's a pub just there!" He pointed down the street, looking hopefully at Harry.

The pub looked dingy and old, even now. It was obviously lively, however: Harry could hear singing emanating from it, despite the fact that it couldn't be much past seven in the evening.

"Come on, Harry, when are we going to get to do something like this again?" persisted Adam. "It'll be fun!"

Harry highly doubted this. On the other hand, he had no further plan, and there was no indication as to where they might find Bligh.

_**If Harry decides to indulge Adam's desire for after-dinner music, go to Chapter 17**_

_**If Harry decides to go in search of Bligh, go to Chapter 23**_


	17. Chapter 17

For the umpteenth time that day, Harry sighed deeply. "All right," he said. He had grave misgivings about this venture, but he had no idea what else they should be doing. Besides, he suspected that the only way he would get through this day without losing his mind would be to drink more.

Adam, obviously thrilled, practically bounced down the street to the pub. As they followed, Lucas turned to Harry. "Are you sure about this, Harry?" he said quietly.

"Not in the slightest," said Harry. Lucas shot him a dark look as they ducked into the pub after Adam.

The room, large and low-ceilinged, was dimly lit, smoky, and crowded; it reminded Harry vaguely of a particularly dingy pub he had frequented in his days in Berlin. As they entered, a few of the patrons nearest the door turned to survey them, their eyes predictably settling on Adam's blasted jeans.

The spooks stood their ground, however, and after a moment, attention turned back to the singer that they had heard from the street. A shaggy-haired man of about Lucas's age, he was attired in a shirt tighter than any Harry had seen here. Strumming the guitar in his lap, he was mournfully crooning—there was really no other word for it—a song whose lyrics were not in the least melancholy, as far as Harry could tell.

"_Let us be jovial, fill our glasses,_

_Madness 'tis for us to think_

_How the world is ruled by asses_

_And the wise are swayed by drink._

_Never let vain cares oppress us,_

_Riches are to them a snare,_

_We are all as rich as Croesus_

_While our bottle drowns our care._"

It was really remarkable how woeful the singer was making what was obviously a cheery drinking song. Harry had to admire his talent.

"Shall I get us a drink?" asked Lucas.

"We still don't have any money!" said Adam.

"I'll handle it," said Lucas, and he disappeared into the crowd surrounding the bar.

Harry looked at Adam, who seemed to be enjoying himself too much for Harry's liking. "Adam. Might I remind you that I only agreed to come here because you suggested we might discover something of Bligh's whereabouts?"

"Oh!" said Adam. "Right!" With a solemn nod to Harry, he too disappeared amongst the pub's denizens.

Harry looked around, taking in his surroundings. His three-piece suit seemed especially out of place here, although he did notice two well-dressed gentlemen making their way toward the back of the pub. As they disappeared through a door, Harry realized that one of them was carrying a red coat; obviously, they were military men.

Just as he was thinking this, Lucas reappeared, balancing three tankards of beer. "Cheers," said Harry, relieving him of one and drinking deeply. They sipped in silence, listening to the noisy crowd and the warbling man, who had launched into another (presumably unintentionally) depressing tune.

Adam emerged just as the song was ending. "Harry!" he said, brimming with excitement. "Guess who's

here?"

"Bligh?" said Harry hopefully, though he knew they would have no such luck.

A man wrestled his way through the crowd into their little circle and bowed deeply. "How wonderful to encounter you again, Sir Harry!" said Lawrence brightly. "I hadn't thought we would meet again today!"

"Mm," said Harry noncommittally. He was less than thrilled to see the dandy again. Lawrence was undoubtedly friendly, but Harry had a feeling that they might soon be swept up into some absurd adventure against their will.

"And guess who else is here, Harry?" Adam accepted the tankard Lucas offered him, but he was obviously too excited to drink. "Just over there, in the corner?"

"William Pitt," said Harry, tiring of Adam's guessing games.

"No! General Cornwallis! _And_ Lawrence knows him!"

Lawrence nodded proudly and straightened up, clearly believing himself to be imposing. Harry was, annoyingly, somewhat intrigued. General Cornwallis had always been one of Harry's personal heroes, but he was hardly related to the task at hand: namely, finding Bligh and getting back to where they belonged.

"And what about Bligh?" asked Lucas.

Lawrence looked pained. "Well, gentlemen, I've attempted to ascertain something of Bligh's whereabouts, but you know what he's like when he's on a mission! So secretive! He won't give anyone the time of day! And so I've arranged to meet with Günther—the Baron von Pilsner, that is—he says he might be able to help."

"Well then," said Harry, setting down his tankard. "Shall we?"

Adam was beside himself. "Harry! We _have_ to go meet Cornwallis!"

"Oh, I would be happy to make an introduction to the General!" said Lawrence. "Of course, that would mean we would be late to meet Günther, but I'm certain he would understand."

The prospect of meeting Cornwallis was alluring to Harry, but he didn't want to delay getting them home. As Harry pondered, the guitarist began to play another song. This one sounded markedly unlike the drinking songs he had been playing since their arrival; in fact, it sounded almost like—_rock_. He looked at Lucas and Adam, who seemed to have realized the same thing.

"This sounds like that song that's on Radio 1 all the time," said Adam. "You know, the one about sex in flames, or whatever."

Lucas, who looked extremely uneasy, shot a glance at Lawrence. "Come on, Harry, let's get out of here."

That was certainly Harry's inclination; this music was fast becoming unbearable. "_Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh_," crooned the guitarist.

"What about Cornwallis?!" exclaimed Adam, looking scandalized.

"That gentleman has very unusual hair!" said Lawrence, who was gazing at the guitarist with fascination, not paying much attention to the conversation. With obvious effort, he turned back to Harry. "Well, Sir Harry, what is it to be? Should you like to meet General Cornwallis, or shall we depart and attempt to find Bligh straightaway?"

_**If Harry decides to meet Cornwallis, go to Chapter 18**_

_**If Harry decides to go with Lawrence to search for Bligh, go to Chapter 19**_


	18. Chapter 18

Harry thought for a moment. As much as he hated repeatedly giving into Adam's whims, meeting General Cornwallis _was_ a unique opportunity… "Will you please introduce us to the General?" he said, the veneer of politeness in his tone overshadowed by his overwhelming despair at the way this day was progressing. He massaged his temples somewhat futilely.

Lawrence clapped his hands. "Certainly! He will be delighted to make your acquaintance?"

Harry felt that this was extremely unlikely, but he nonetheless took a last swig from his tankard and stood to follow Lawrence through the heaving crowd of men pressing ever closer on the warbling musician.

At last, they gained the back of the pub. Lawrence pulled out an enormous handkerchief—Harry noted with a degree of bewilderment that it was embellished flamboyantly with the monogram _A.H._—and mopped his brow theatrically. "My, wasn't that an arduous journey!" he said, clearly proud of himself for getting them to their destination intact. "And now—" he straightened his jacket, made a gesture not unlike a hair flip, and thrust open the door in front of which they stood— "Sir Harry, may I present General Lord Cornwallis?"

Harry barely had time to marvel at Lawrence's boldness before he observed Cornwallis, imposing but nonetheless as stout and be-wigged as his portraits would suggest, turning toward him. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir Harry," he said, nodding at Harry, who could do nothing but nod awkwardly and marvel at Lawrence's prescience (or perhaps the general simply used this phrase whenever he met someone, delightful or not).

"Your—er—General," said Harry, uncomfortably aware that all conversation among the room's dozen occupants had ceased. "The pleasure is all mine." Noticing that Cornwallis's gaze had been redirected to Adam's jeans, Harry quickly added, "And these are my companions, Adam Carter and Lucas North."

"Hmm," said Cornwallis, still staring at the jeans. After a moment, he refocused on Harry. "Well, any friend of Sir James's!" He glanced at Adam again, chuckled, and ate a lemon drop.

Lawrence looked pleased for a moment, then aghast. "Ah! Lord Rawdon! I had not observed you there! Please forgive me! Sir Harry, this is Lord Rawdon," he added unnecessarily.

A dandified gentleman with a decidedly drunken air about him stepped out from behind Cornwallis. "Sir James," he drawled. "How marvelous to see you." He turned to Harry and bowed deeply. "George Augustus Francis, Lord Rawdon. Have we met?"

"Er—no—Milord," said Harry.

"Ah, I thought perhaps you were at that party," said Rawdon vaguely. He turned back to Lawrence. "And how is your…friend? Bligh?"

Lawrence looked troubled. "Well, actually, your Lordship, not very well. We can't find him, you see!"

Rawdon poured himself a large measure of whiskey, then downed it. "Troublesome fellow, that. And running off with the colonel's lady, too! Though, of course, she did have magnificent breasts. Quite careless of Rupert, really!"

Harry had absolutely no idea what any of this meant, but Lawrence's face had drained of all color, and even Cornwallis looked uncomfortable. "Best not to bring that up again, eh, Rawdon? Not Bligh's fault, in the end," he said, his jovial tone somewhat forced. "Now, Lawrence, where is that Prussian friend of yours?"

Lawrence looked absolutely delighted at the turn of the conversation. "I was just going to take Sir Harry and his companions to meet Günther!" he said, frowning slightly as he pulled an enormous pocketwatch out from under his sumptuous coat and examined it. "My! Is that the time already? I'm afraid we're really quite late!"

Cornwallis waved an unconcerned hand. "No need to stay on my account, Lawrence. Do make sure the Baron adheres to his lessons on muzzle management!" He chortled merrily.

"Oh, he would never _dream_ of handling weapons inappropriately," said Lawrence earnestly. Cornwallis and Rawdon laughed all the harder, and Harry, lost though he felt, couldn't help but wonder if Lawrence was missing something.

When Rawdon finally collected himself, Harry was unnerved to see that his gaze, too, had landed on Adam's jeans. "I say, my dear fellow," he said, taking a step toward the spooks, "wherever did you get those—"

Harry stepped forward. "We really must be going," he said firmly. As exciting as it was to meet his boyhood heroes, Harry felt that the less time he spent in their company, the more he would be able to respect what they had done for England. Besides, all of this running about was distracting them from the task at hand: namely, finding Bligh and getting home.

Adam looked disappointed, but Lawrence clapped his hands again. "Yes! To the Baron we must go! Lord Rawdon, Milord Cornwallis, I am as ever your servant." He bowed deeply, and Harry, with a sideways glance at Lucas and Adam, followed suit. "Cheerio!" cried Lawrence, and he ushered them out of the room.

No sooner had they exited back into the crowded pub than Harry became aware of a hush spreading through the crowd. A tall figure was forcing its way through the door and into the pub, yelling madly. "Sir Harry! We have to go! Sir Harry!"

Bligh had found them at last.

_**Continue to Chapter 22**_


	19. Chapter 19

Harry sighed. He would have loved to meet General Cornwallis, but his desire to find Bligh and get home was much stronger.

"Let's go meet your—er—friend," he said.

Adam looked crushed, but Lawrence clapped his hands. "Günther is always so helpful! And of course he will be simply delighted to meet you! He always loves to meet a young gentleman who is nattily dressed," he told Adam in a conspiratorial tone. Adam looked slightly cheered even as Lucas's expression became nauseated. "Well, come along! No time to waste!" chirped Lawrence, leading them out of the pub.

Once outside, Lawrence paused. "Now, Günther's at his club of an evening, you know—of course, Prussians _do_ tend to hang together—but I simply _hate_ going there. The gentlemen there are always talking about dessert, and it leaves me quite famished!"

Lucas raised an eyebrow at Harry, who frowned and stepped up to follow Lawrence and Adam down the street. "How do you know Günther?" Harry heard Adam ask as they strolled along the wide, cobbled street, which was mercifully devoid of the daytime traffic that had so challenged Harry earlier.

"Well, we met during the war, naturally," said Lawrence brightly. "He's a specialist in muzzle management, you know—quite the expert—and he took a special liking to me because of my proficiency in the subject. And then of course he came to London once we left the colonies—he didn't want to go back to _Prussia_, obviously—and here we are!"

"And how can he be of assistance to us?" asked Lucas drily. "We're not exactly in need of muzzle management lessons, are we?"

Harry thought he appreciated Lucas's question rather more than Lawrence did. "Well, of course I wasn't suggesting that," he said huffily. "But the Baron has quite a network in London, and he can always—"

"Ah, _wunderbar_!" came a cry from down the street ahead of them. "I haff located you, Sir James!"

"Günther!" cried Lawrence, positively skipping toward the man that had just come into view. Short, indistinctly middle-aged, he was impeccably dressed, and his face was positively brimming with glee.

"I think these are your friends, _ja_?" said the man, bowing at Harry.

"Oh—yes!" said Lawrence, who seemed unaccountably flustered. "Baron Hans Dieter Wolfgang von Pilsner, may I present Sir Harry Pearce, Mr. North, and Mr. Carter."

"I haff much pleasure," said the Baron, bowing again. Harry could not understand, given all of the man's forenames, why on earth Lawrence would call him by yet another one, but he dismissed this as but one of many unsolvable mysteries of this long and increasingly ridiculous day. "Now—you are vanting to find Bligh, I think?"

"Yes," said Harry shortly, as the question seemed to be addressed to him.

"Oh, _ja_," said the Baron, smiling pleasantly. "I do not know where he is."

"You—you don't?" said Lawrence uncertainly.

"No ideas," the Baron said, shrugging. "But perhaps you will like to come back to my club?" He looked hopefully at Lawrence.

Harry, who had been containing his displeasure throughout this exchange, was on the verge of bursting into a long and loud string of expletives when he heard a low voice from behind him.

It was Bligh.

_**Continue to Chapter 24**_


	20. Chapter 20

They had just reached Fleet Street when Adam broke the silence. "Harry?" he said tentatively. "Where are we going?"

"Home," said Harry firmly, not bothering to look at Adam.

"Harry," began Lucas, "we don't know—"

Harry halted and turned to face his officers. "I have had enough of this absurdity. I followed your suggestion that we trust Bligh, and we ended up in the eighteenth century. I followed you into a duel" – Adam's sullen expression did not escape Harry, who knew that his officer resented the lack of appreciation for his fighting skills – "and to gaol, and I am _done_. We are going to find Bligh, and we are going _home_!" The end of this speech was louder than he had intended, and several people turned to stare at them.

After a moment, Adam spoke. "But we don't know where he _is_."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, willing himself to remain calm. "Which is why we're going back to where we started." He turned on his heel and began to march once more.

As they strode along in silence, Harry pondered their predicament. Their clothes were still attracting the attention of passersby, but they couldn't help that now. It was a remarkably fine afternoon, however, and it was pleasant to be outside in the sunshine, particularly after several hours in a musty cell.

In a few more minutes, they stood once more outside the churchyard of St Mary-le-Strand, gazing up at its steeple. "He's not here," said Adam unnecessarily, and Harry checked the impulse to slap him.

"Lucas, why don't you go back to where you met Bligh last night. Adam, do a lap of the immediate area. Both of you meet me back here in twenty minutes, and we'll compare notes."

"What are you—" began Adam.

"Go!" bellowed Harry, and they went.

Harry leaned against the side of the church and sighed deeply. He didn't think it any more likely than his officers did that they would randomly encounter Bligh on their searches, but it at least gave them all something to do. Lost in thought, he considered their dilemma. If Bligh didn't return, they would have to figure out where to find food, and appropriate clothes, and perhaps lodging for the evening—all without any useable currency. A variety of plans, each less feasible than the last, ran through his brain, and after fifteen minutes, Harry was no closer to thinking of a way out of the situation. He sighed again, closing his eyes.

When he opened them, he saw Bligh making his way across the street past horses, dogs, and children. He raised a giant hand to Harry in greeting.

Harry didn't know whether to shout at him or thank him for showing up. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"I told you, I had a mission!" said Bligh defensively. "Where are the others?"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Adam reappeared from around the back of the church. "Harry!" he said. "Bligh's here!"

"Thank you, Adam," said Harry grumpily. A moment later, Lucas strode back into view and fought his way across the street back to them.

"So how'd you get on?" asked Bligh.

"Well, as you had given us no idea as to why we were here, where you would be, or what we were meant to do with ourselves until we encountered you again, we attempted to swindle some tea out of Twinings. While we were doing this, Adam involved himself in a duel, which got us all thrown into the Tower of London. Lucas bribed us out—and possibly destroyed the time-space continuum in the process—and here we are."

Bligh nodded as though this were entirely mundane. "Who'd you duel with, eh?" he inquired, turning to Adam.

"Some guy named Colonel Tavington," said Adam, not noticing that Bligh had gone suddenly pale at his words. "He thought I had insulted him or his wife, or something. I don't really know."

"You mentioned his _wife_?" groaned Bligh. He took a deep breath and gathered himself. "Well, all the more reason we've got to get out of here now."

"Why—" began Harry, who found Bligh's fear of Tavington peculiar, but Bligh interrupted him.

"No time, mate," he said gruffly. "Anyway, mission's done, so we'd better be going."

Harry's indignation at being called 'mate' by a scruffy giant half his age was mitigated by his annoyance at Bligh's lack of explanation. "If you didn't need us to complete your 'mission,' then why the bloody hell are we here?"

Bligh stared at him. "I _did_ need you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He turned and walked toward the church door.

Lucas and Adam looked at each other, then at Harry, who sighed. "All right," he said, marching after Bligh.

Once they were all standing in front of the door, Bligh surveyed them. "You'll have to hold onto me again," he said. Harry grabbed one of his sleeves, Lucas the other, leaving Adam to hold Bligh's bum bag.

"Ready?" asked Bligh. They all nodded, and Bligh swung open the door. Together, they all stepped forward into darkness.

**THE END**


	21. Chapter 21

"So where are we going?" asked Adam, walking quickly to catch up with Harry, who was leading them down Fleet Street at a brisk pace.

"We're trying to find Bligh," said Lucas tersely.

"But we don't know where he is!" exclaimed Adam.

"Exactly," said Harry, somewhat testily. "So we're going back to where we started."

They strode along in silence for a few more minutes. The fine day had turned into a dusky evening while they were in the shop, and the sky was deepening as they walked. Harry had a strange sense of urgency, as though they needed to find their way home soon or they would be trapped here. He did his best to shove this thought aside. What they needed was a way to find Bligh and get him to explain what the hell they were doing here and how they could get back.

In a few more minutes, they stood once more outside the churchyard of St Mary-le-Strand, gazing up at its steeple. "He's not here," said Adam unnecessarily, and Harry checked the impulse to slap him.

"Maybe we should—" began Lucas, but a moment later, a voice sounded from the street behind them.

"What are you _wearing_?"

All three spooks whirled around to see Bligh staring at them, an expression of distaste upon his face.

"Where have you been?" demanded Harry, his voice deadly quiet.

"I told you, I had a mission!" said Bligh defensively. "Anyway, it seems like you're all right."

"'All right'?" repeated Harry. "We had no money to buy food, so we had to bluff our way into having some tea. Adam got into a duel and got us thrown into the Tower of London, from which we were rescued by a man called Lord John Grey. We then met the Prince Regent, who forced us into this ridiculous clothing. It is bloody well not 'all right', and you _will_ take us home this instant!" Harry's voice rose rather more than he had intended, but he was too incensed to bother about what passersby might think.

Bligh seemed unconcerned. "Who'd you duel with, eh?" he inquired, turning to Adam.

"With me, as it happens, though I would much have preferred to run a sword through you, you lily-livered whorepipe," said an ice-cold voice. They turned to see Tavington, hand on his sword, glaring at them.

The color drained from Bligh's face. "Colonel Tavington—sir—"

Tavington stepped forward. "I should have expected that these…_gentlemen_…were in league with you. Something about this one in particular" – he jerked his head toward Adam – "reminds me of your _dear_ friend Lawrence. Perhaps it's the lacy cuffs."

"Sir—I—" Bligh looked positively terrified. Harry stole a glance at Adam and Lucas, both of whom were obviously poised to attack Tavington. He wondered how Bligh and Tavington were acquainted, but there was no time to try to puzzle it out—and besides, Tavington's animosity toward Bligh was a credit to the latter.

In a single fluid motion, Tavington drew out his sword and placed it to Bligh's throat. "Where is my wife, Bligh?" he bellowed.

Bligh had no opportunity to answer, as Lucas and Adam launched themselves at Tavington, knocking him back from Bligh. Adam wrenched the handle of his sword out of his hand and tossed it away across the cobblestones, causing several of the onlookers who had gathered to scatter.

Bligh scrambled to his feet and seized Harry's sleeve. "Come on!"

Harry began to jog after Bligh, who was heading for the church. They stopped just outside the door, and Bligh consulted his watch—digital, Harry noted, wondering idly where he got the batteries. "We have to leave in the next two minutes!"

"We are not going anywhere without my officers," Harry announced with conviction he did not necessarily feel.

Bligh sighed. "All right," he said heavily, and he jogged back toward where Adam and Lucas were still struggling with Tavington.

Harry watched with trepidation as Bligh tugged Adam and Lucas away from Tavington, throwing the latter back onto the cobblestones. The trio sprinted back toward Harry. With a roar, Tavington sprang up and, snatching up his sword from where it lay some ten feet away, ran after them.

"Hold onto me!" yelled Bligh as he reached Harry. Lucas and Adam grabbed ahold of Bligh's sleeves, and Harry was again left to seize Bligh's bum bag as he yanked open the door of the church.

The group moved awkwardly into the darkness inside the church. But as he passed through the door, Harry looked back and, with a thrill of horror, saw Tavington launching himself directly at Harry. Harry's last sensation was of hands grasping the smooth velvet of his coat, and then everything went dark.

**THE END**


	22. Chapter 22

"Bligh!" cried Lawrence, pushing his way through the room, which slowly began to fill with the sound of talk and laughter once more. "_There_ you are! We've been looking all over for you, you know—well, at least Sir Harry has, and I was simply hadn't the _foggiest_—"

But Bligh, who apparently had experience in ignoring Lawrence, had eyes only for Harry. "We have to get out of here," he said, his tone low and urgent now that they were within speaking distance. "It's gone wrong, all of it."

"Have you achieved your objective?" interrupted Adam importantly. Harry felt the desire to slap him.

"No," said Bligh shortly. "But it's important we get out of here now, or the portal will close."

Lawrence leaned toward Lucas, who stepped back rather abruptly. "He's always talking about these portals, you know," Lawrence said conspiratorially. "But Androclus always used to say—"

"We don't have _time_, Lawrence!" barked Bligh, now starting to shove his way back toward the pub's entrance. "Come along!"

Lawrence looked affronted, but followed along with the spooks. "I was going to take them to meet Günther," he said reproachfully, readjusting his vibrantly purple scarf as they stepped out into the street.

Bligh snorted. "Pity they won't have the opportunity."

Lawrence bristled. "Why, whatever do you mean by insulting the Baron? You know perfectly well that he's the reason my sword is always freshly polished!"

Lucas stifled what sounded like a chuckle. Bligh glanced back at him with a knowing look before continuing his march up the street. He was walking fast enough that Harry had to jog slightly to keep up; fortunately, the streets were much clearer in the evening, with only a few passersby here and there to stare at the band. "Where are we going?" Harry demanded.

"The portal," Bligh said, turning down a poorly cobbled side street. "You don't want to be trapped here, do you?"

"Of course not," snapped Harry, feeling out of his element. "But I don't understand where—"

Bligh held up an enormous hand and gestured down a dark, putrid alley. "There," he said simply. "Just down there and you'll be home."

"We have to go down there?" demanded Adam. "It smells like sh—"

"It's the only way," said Bligh. He consulted his wristwatch, which Harry noted was, incongruously, digital. "You'll have to go soon. I don't know exactly how long it will be open."

"How long _what_ will be open?" demanded Lawrence. "Are we going to a concert venue of some kind?"

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," said Bligh gruffly. "_They_—" he indicated Harry, Adam, and Lucas— "are going home."

"You're not coming with us?" said Harry, somewhat surprised.

"My work here's not done," grunted Bligh.

"But how will they—?" began Lawrence, but Bligh interrupted him yet again.

"No time," he barked. "Sir Harry." He extended a massive hand to Harry and his companions in turn. Adam and Lucas both looked slightly sad to see him go, much to Harry's chagrin.

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what all this means," grumbled Lawrence. "But it has been a delight, Sir Harry! Mr. North! Mr. Carter! Do come see us again! I should be thrilled to be your host in London any time you are down from the north! And perhaps next time, Günther can give us all a—"

"Go!" thundered Bligh. Harry, too exhausted even to consider the absurdity of this order, turned to down the alley, his officers following close behind him. As they picked their way through the muck that lined the ground, the light at the end of the alley becoming fainter and fainter behind them, Harry could hear the echoes of Bligh and Lawrence behind him—until suddenly, he couldn't hear anything, and the blackness overtook him once more.

**THE END**


	23. Chapter 23

"We have to find Bligh," said Harry, "and I very much doubt that he will be in that pub." Lucas nodded approvingly, but Adam looked terribly disappointed. Ignoring this, Harry marched up the street past the pub and turned right.

He had no idea where he was going, really, but he couldn't help but feel that they should get back to where they had started. They walked for a mile or so down streets that looked like shades of the ones they were familiar with, the blue sky showing faint signs of impending twilight. Eventually they came to the statue in Charing Cross, and Harry stopped. He had to admit that they were no closer to finding Bligh, and he needed a moment to rethink their options.

"Let's stop for a moment and—" he began, but he was interrupted a moment later by a tall figure galloping toward them.

"Where have you been?" demanded Bligh, as though they hadn't spent the entire day in search of him.

"Where have we _been_?" repeated Harry, his voice deadly quiet. "As you left us with no instruction and no ideas as to what the bloody hell we might be doing here, we have spent our day looking for you so that we can go home."

"Oh," said Bligh. "Well, you can't. Go home, I mean."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry couldn't quite grasp what Bligh was saying.

"Something went wrong—when we got back, I mean—and I've lost the portal. We can't go back. Yet, anyway." Bligh looked slightly nervous when he glimpsed Harry's face.

"Something went wrong," repeated Harry disbelievingly. "Do you suppose it was perhaps your idiotic belief that you needed to drag us into this mess?" Lucas stepped toward Harry, as if to prevent him launching himself at Bligh. Harry did not appreciate this.

"I _did_ need to drag you—I mean, I needed to bring you along," said Bligh. "Listen, mate, it's not like we're trapped forever. I just need a few weeks to take care of some things, and then we'll get another portal back."

"Another _portal_?" Harry was practically apoplectic. "What the hell is—"

"Harry," interrupted Adam. "Calm down."

Not for the first time that day, Harry forced himself to resist the urge to slap Adams. "I most certainly will not calm down! This is—"

"It's hardly catastrophic," said Lucas calmly. "We'll get home eventually."

"_Eventually_?" shouted Harry. A few pigeons standing near them backed away nervously. "Section D will collapse after a few weeks without us! The Russians will have moved into Thames House by the time we 'eventually' get back!"

"Well, we don't know how the time thing works," said Adam reasonably. "We might get back to exactly when we left. Right?" He turned to Bligh.

Bligh jerked his head uncomfortably. Everyone looked at Harry. He took several deep breaths and nodded, not looking at Bligh.

"Okay," said Bligh. "Well, first of all, you need some clothes. You'll attract a lot of attention in those jeans." He looked at Adam.

Harry groaned and buried his head in his hands. This was going to be an interminable few weeks.

**THE END**


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm here," said Bligh, striding up to them.

Lawrence clapped his hands. "Bligh!" he said delightedly, bowing. Harry observed that the Baron looked rather less pleased to see Bligh, but that was hardly his concern.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, glaring at Bligh.

"Doesn't matter," said Bligh evasively. "I've come to take you back. Found another portal."

"Did you complete your mission?" Adam asked eagerly.

"Not yet," said Bligh. "Come on, we've got to get you home. I'll explain while we walk. Didn't you say you were going to your club, Baron?"

The Baron looked sour. "_Ja_," he said crossly. "It is _wunderbar_ to meet you, Sir Harry and his friends. Sir James, you vill be seeing me soon?"

"Oh, yes!" said Lawrence enthusiastically, bowing once more.

"_Lecker_," muttered the Baron, and with a bow and a wave, he crossed the street and marched away. Lucas snickered.

Lawrence looked affronted. "Just because he's Prussian, there's no need to laugh at him!" he said crossly, turning to follow Bligh. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Out to sea," grunted Bligh.

"We will be doing no such thing!" said Harry loudly.

"Not you," said Bligh, turning at a corner and heading down a street toward the river. "I told you, you're going home."

"Well then, who's going out to sea?" demanded Lawrence.

"You and me," Bligh said shortly.

Lawrence looked positively delighted. "A maritime adventure!" he cried, clapping his hands. "I've so longed for the open sea! It's a real adventure! Just like old times!"

"You don't even know where we're going," said Bligh.

"Oh," said Lawrence, looking confused. "No, I suppose I don't. Where are we going?"

"Classified," Bligh said.

"Then why did you bother mentioning it?" said Lawrence crossly.

Bligh did not answer him, but came to a halt at the end of the street. They were now standing a few hundred meters upriver from a large boat. Harry, who knew very little about boats, thought it looked rather like a pirate ship, albeit without the Jolly Roger. Certainly it had a rather adventuresome look about it as it sat under the star-filled sky.

Adam sighed dramatically. "What, you want to go with them?" said Harry, and Lawrence looked suddenly excited.

"We should go," said Lucas, and Bligh nodded.

"You'll just have to go that way for half a mile, then turn right," said Bligh, pointing with a massive hand.

"The river is right," said Harry.

"Not _in_ the river, next to it. There's a door," said Bligh, somewhat impatiently. Harry thought he could just make out a small shack where Bligh was pointing, though he couldn't imagine how that would get them home. "Be sure you hold on to each other."

"Right," said Harry. "Well—goodbye."

Bligh simply nodded, but Lawrence bowed theatrically. "It's been a real delight, Sir Harry—Mr. North, Mr. Carter." His eyes lingered once more on Adam's jeans as he bowed to each of them in turn. Harry felt a sudden desire to throttle his officer.

"Farewell," said Adam, also somewhat theatrically. Lucas merely nodded.

As the three spooks turned away to walk toward the shack, Harry looked back. He heard Bligh calmly deflecting Lawrence's questions as the latter bounded enthusiastically up the gangplank behind Bligh. "But what about Androclus? You know he's so unhappy if I don't write him at least twice a week, and…"

Harry, unable to hear any more, sighed to himself and shook his head, unable to imagine what sort of mission would necessitate those two out at sea together. That, however, wasn't his problem, and he turned his thoughts to home once more. If he weren't completely overwhelmed by the events of the day, he might be worrying about whether this "portal" would in fact get them home, but he simply didn't have the energy for it.

"Here's the shack," said Lucas, somewhat unnecessarily, as they drew close to it.

"I suppose you'd better—grab hold of me," Harry said, avoiding looking at his officers. Lucas rather tentatively reached up to touch Harry's shoulder, but Adam grabbed his hand before Harry could protest, releasing it a moment later in favor of Harry's shoulder when he saw the look on his boss's face.

"Right," said Harry, jaw clenched, and he opened the door of the shack, feeling that home could not appear soon enough.

**THE END**


End file.
